Blackmoore by Julianne Donaldson
Chapter 3
Present Day
A knock sounded at the door—two raps, a pause, and then two more raps. It was Oliver’s code. I looked up sharply, startled out of my reverie. Another four knocks. Still Oliver. I opened the door carefully, just a crack, so that he could not see into my room—so that he could not see the ruined model of Blackmoore.
Oliver stood close to the door, his brown hair hanging over his hazel eyes. He needed a haircut. I would have to mention it to Cook.
“What is it?” I asked, hoping he did not notice my distress. I lifted the corners of my lips for his sake, trying to smile, when I would have done it for no one else.
He beckoned me closer, crooking one dirty little finger. I bent my head, and he loudly whispered in my ear, “Mr. Cooper is coming to dinner.”
I pulled back. “No.”
He nodded. “I heard Mama say so to Cook.”
That disgusting Mr. Cooper whom I had refused was coming back? Mama must have given him reason to come back. She must have led him to suppose that I had changed my mind. That was it, then. I would have to run away.
“Thank you, Ollie,” I sighed.
He stuck out a hand. “Do you have a penny? For a treat? Please?” He gave me such a winning smile that I could not resist. I took two pennies from my reticule and put them in his hand. Before he could pull his hand back, I grabbed it and turned it over, then clucked my tongue with disapproval. “Go and clean your fingernails, little man. They are atrocious.”
He laughed, his eyes lit up with a mischievous gleam. “I like them atrocious.” He ran down the hall, clutching the two pennies, and I could not help but smile as I heard his loud footsteps clatter down the wooden steps. He was the one person I would miss when I left tomorrow for—
I stopped my thoughts. No. I was not leaving for Blackmoore tomorrow. The despair struck me again. No Blackmoore, and I would have to endure Mr. Cooper’s company at dinner? It was too much.
Just then the sound of a whistle lifted through the air and filled the room. It was a blackbird’s song. I hurried to the window, set my hands on the sill and leaned out, looking down. Henry stood below my window, his hands cupped around his mouth as he whistled.
“I have set up the target,” he called out. “Come shoot with me.”
I shushed him with a finger to my lips and turned back to the room. I hurried to put the model back inside the chest, locking it tight and returning the key to its hiding place before turning back to the window. I threw one leg over the windowsill.
“What are you doing?” Henry called from the ground below.
“Can you please lower your voice?” I whispered fiercely as I threw my other leg over the sill. “What does it look like I’m doing? Leaving the house.”
“No, Kate. Not the window. Just use the door, like a normal person.”
“I cannot. Mama will see me.” I turned over, gripping the inner edge of the sill, so that my stomach rested against the wood. “It is only a little more difficult since the lattice broke last summer.” I searched for a crack in the stones with the toe of my boot. At that moment, Cora decided to explore my predicament and jumped onto my head.
“Oh, no. Not now,” I said. “Get down!”
But after peering over my head, she proceeded to walk slowly and elegantly down my back. Henry laughed.
“This is your fault,” I muttered. “She is going to see you.”
Just then, Cora seemed to decide that the slope was too steep for her comfort and dug her claws into my legs and back. I jerked with the sharp pain, and she lost her balance. She meowed pathetically, scrambling to catch hold of something but with no luck. I looked over my shoulder to watch her twist in the air as she fell. Henry caught her before she hit the ground.
“Well done,” I said. He set her down, then reached up for me.
“Just drop and I will catch you,” he said, as I continued to fumble for my customary foothold.
“No. I don’t need that much help. Let me find that crack and then you may give me a hand ...”
“Does it really matter exactly how much assistance I render here? I am going to help you anyway. Let me catch you.”
“A hand will suffice.”
He muttered something. I found the crack, shoved the toe of my boot into it, and slid my hands to the outer edge of the windowsill. “What are you muttering about?” I asked.
“Stubborn. Something about this stubborn young lady I know.”
The sound of footsteps came through the window above me. Mama was coming to speak to me, and she was still angry, by the sound of her sharp steps. A loud knock sounded at my bedroom door. In that instant, I realized I had forgotten to lock the door again after opening it for Oliver. I pushed away from the wall and let go. I had no doubt that Henry would catch me. From the corner of my eye I saw him lunge forward. He grabbed me around the waist in time to slow my fall. I stumbled as I landed, but he pulled me to my feet and ran with me around the corner of the house. I pressed myself against the stone wall and tried to quiet my breathing.
“Kitty? Kitty!” Mama’s voice reached us from the open window.
Henry looked down at me, and his amused expression turned suddenly sharp with concern.
“You are upset,” he said.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to either confirm or deny his statement. His eyes narrowed. “Who has upset you?”
“Kitty!” Mama’s yell came again, louder this time. “Katherine Worthington! Answer me this instant! If you have been climbing out of your window again—”
The next instant Henry left my side and walked around the corner of the house. Panicked, I reached out to grab him, to stop him, but he was already out of my reach. All I could do was stand still and wait, tense with nervousness. Cora twined herself around my ankles, meowing, and I picked her up to quiet her.
“Oh. Henry.” Mama’s voice held a note of pleasure. I could imagine her smoothing her hair and leaning further out the window. I could imagine her smiling at Henry as he lifted his face up to her. “I was just looking for Kitty. You have not seen her, have you?”
“Not today. Perhaps she has walked into town?”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. I will send one of the servants directly. Thank you, Henry. You are a dear boy.” A pause, and then her voice lowered and she laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, dear, but you are not a boy anymore, are you? And you are certainly growing more handsome every day.” I closed my eyes, sick with shame. “You must come to dinner tonight. I don’t know how many times I have told Kitty to invite you since your mother and Sylvia left for London, but she has failed me time and time again. I do want you here, dear Henry.” Her voice was sultry. “I want you very much.”
Cora meowed, wriggling in my arms, and I realized that I was squeezing her—strangling her, almost. I loosened my hold but did not let her go, burying my face in her fur. I wished I could bury all of me, somewhere far, far away from my shameful mother.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Worthington, but I must decline. George has invited the Farnsworths to dine tonight, and they are expecting me.”
“Oh.” Her voice took on a complaining tone. “I am sure your brother and his wife can get along fine without you for one evening.”
“I am sorry. Perhaps another evening. If you will excuse me ...”
“Very well. But I will hold you to it. One of these evenings, Henry, you will be at my side.”
A moment later, Henry rounded the corner and stood before me. Full of dread, I threw a glance up at him. His cheeks had reddened and his lips were pressed together, as if he was trying very hard not to say something. But his eyes, when he looked at me, were only kind. The line of his mouth softened, and he gave me a quick, small smile.
“The target, as I was saying, is set up, and I believe I have thrown your mother off your scent. Will you come?”
I trembled with anger and shame and wished I could apologize for my mother. But to apologize for her would be to acknowledge her behavior, and I couldn’t do that. I set Cora on the ground. “That is exactly what I need right now.”
I made sure nobody was watching from the nearest windows as Henry and I darted for the woods, Cora at our heels. The clearing was almost perfectly halfway between our two houses. When we reached it, Henry took off his coat and hung it over a tree branch. The target was set up beside the large maple tree. Two bows and two quivers of arrows rested on a large tree stump. Everything looked just as it should—just as it always had every other day we had spent in this clearing practicing our archery. But I was so angry at Mama that I doubted I could hit anything.
I picked up a bow and a quiver of arrows. Henry stood beside me, watching me in silence. My hands shook with anger. I took a deep breath while I lifted the bow and looked at the target. I released the arrow. It flew wide. No surprise, but still I glared at the offending target.
Henry nocked an arrow, pulled it back, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at the target. The sun glinted off his hair. He released the arrow. It hit the target with a satisfying thunk. He never missed.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” he asked.
I picked up another arrow and nocked it while I considered his question. Staring at the target, I imagined my mother’s cold eyes. “My mother,” I said, releasing the arrow. It hit the outer edge of the target. Pathetic.
“Of course,” Henry said. “But what has dear Mama done this time?”
His second arrow hit home just as soundly as his first had done.
“She is the most unfeeling mother in creation,” I said, picking up another arrow. “She does not comprehend my dreams, nor does she value my desires. She only wants me to marry. And you know how I feel about that.” I released the string. This time the arrow buried itself in the grass.
“Indeed.”
“Indeed!” I grabbed another arrow, upset with the arrows for not flying true and at Henry for being so calm when I was so angry and at Mama for not understanding me at all. “In fact, how many times have you heard me vow that I will never marry?”
He smiled, a little half-smile. “How many times? I have not kept count, Kate.”
“Estimate, then.”
He sighed. “Very well. I would estimate two dozen times, at least, since last Christmas. Perhaps another fifty times last year. Maybe a hundred in total.”
I felt accomplished. “And do you believe that I am serious in my intention?”
“Yes, I do.” Henry’s jaw was set as he stared down the arrow at the target.
“See? You understand me on this matter, and you are only my friend. But my own flesh and blood—!”
He flinched, his head jerking to the side to look at me, and his arrow fell off his bow. He lowered the bow and gave me a piercing look, his grey eyes glinting like steel. Then he raised it again and leveled his gaze at the target. “Only your friend?” He narrowed his eyes at the target, his pressed lips causing a line to crease in his cheek. “I think I deserve a better title than that.”
“Like what?” I asked, looking at him askance.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He released his arrow. Another solid hit, right on target. “Perhaps The Giver of My Heart’s Desire?”
An outraged laugh burst from me. “The Giver of My Heart’s Desire?” A smile crept across his lips. “I will never call you that,” I said, picking up another arrow.
“Why not? I earned it. I think you should call me by that title every time you see me.”
“How do you believe you earned it?” I demanded.
“I gave you your cat, and that is the thing you love most in this world.” He gestured at Cora lying in the grass nearby. “Therefore, I have given you your heart’s desire.”
I scoffed, then drew back the string and released the arrow. It hit the target. Finally. I smiled with satisfaction. “I am not going to call you The Giver of My Heart’s Desire. That is ridiculous.”
Henry looked at me with a satisfied smile. “There. Your eyebrows are back to normal now.”
“You are not supposed to tease me about my eyebrows, remember? We made that pact five years ago.”
“That was a one-time arrangement, after you tried to shave them off with your father’s razor.” He pulled back the string on his bow, leveling his gaze at the target. Henry’s form was something I had always admired but never more so than now. At age twenty his back was broader, his shoulders stronger than ever before. The muscles in his arms stood out, cords of light and shadow. There was that line in his cheek again—that line that was more crease than dimple, and I had to look away. I heard Henry’s arrow hit the target while I bent down and drew the last arrow for myself.
My last arrow flew true, and I breathed a sigh of relief. This was better. I had found my aim again. I set down my bow and walked over to the target with Henry. After prying my arrows loose and gathering the errant ones, I wandered over to the large maple tree that stood on one side of the clearing. It was so tall that its lowest branches began far above my head. I leaned against its familiar, mottled bark and sighed deeply. My temper was in check, but resentment and grief still burned within me.
Henry joined me, leaning against the tree as well. I held my arrows in my hand, studying their feathers and wishing, not for the first time, that I could fly away from this place. I felt Henry’s gaze on my face.
“What is really bothering you, Kate?” he asked in a quiet voice. “This problem with your mother is nothing new. What has happened today to upset you?”
I ran the feathers of the arrows between my fingers, fighting back another round of angry tears. I drew in a deep breath, struggling for some control over my emotions.
“She has said I may not go to Blackmoore,” I finally said.
“What?” Disbelief mingled with anger. “Why not?”
I tipped my head back and covered my eyes with my hand, hiding the fight against my tears. “She is angry with me for refusing Mr. Cooper’s proposal.”
“Mr. Cooper?” Henry’s voice was appalled. “The man is diseased!”
I laughed a little, a tear leaking out of one eye. “I know!” My stomach turned as I recalled his most recent visit. “The last time I saw him, his ear was bandaged. Why is it always a different part of his body that is bandaged?”
“I cannot answer that,” Henry said in a serious voice. I looked at him, and there was such a look of revulsion on his face that I burst out laughing.
“The bandage was stained, too,” I said, wheezing with laughter. “A greenish color.”
Henry shook his head. “Stop. Say no more.”
I was laughing so hard that tears ran down my cheeks. But they reminded me of what I really had to cry about, and the thought sobered me.
“It is entirely unfair,” I said, “that when we have finally convinced your mother to let me visit, my mother has put a stop to it.”
Something flashed in his eyes—something that made him look away for a moment. “How right you are.” He sighed. “So ... I take it this means that your mother has not yet accepted how fundamentally stubborn you are. She thinks she can still convince you to marry? Turn you into a proper, obedient daughter, hmm? Will she be rearranging the order of the universe while she’s at it?”
I smiled sadly. “Something like that.”
“You know, you never have explained to me your decision never to marry.”
I shook my head. No matter how many times he had asked me about that in the past year and a half, I refused to give an answer. “Not today, Henry. We have more important battles to fight.” I looked over at him, meeting his gaze with my own. “I must go to Blackmoore. I must,” I whispered. “I think I will resent her for the rest of my life if she keeps me here.”
He nodded, his grey eyes serious, as if he understood perfectly the gravity of the situation. If anyone did understand, it was he. He had made me that model, after all. I wiped away another tear, and that time I was sure Henry saw.
Henry nudged me with his elbow. “Come, now. There is no need to despair. We are two very intelligent people capable of outsmarting one mother, I think.” He stepped away from the tree and began pacing. “What does your mother want, more than anything?”
“For me to marry,” I answered immediately.
“Yet you are determined not to.”
“Precisely.”
“Hmm.” More pacing. Then he paused and turned to me. “Can you not pretend to want to marry? Tell her there will be many eligible gentlemen at Blackmoore, and you may make a match there.”
I shot him a look of disbelief. “No. There is no point in winning the battle if it means jeopardizing the war.” I tapped my arrows against the tree, willing myself to think of a solution. “But what else does my mother want in life?” I thought hard for a long moment, then shrugged. “Nothing. This is all my mother lives for—marrying off her daughters.” And flirting with as many men as she can, I added silently.
Henry looked at me sharply. “Her daughters,” he said slowly. “Plural.”
“Yes. There are four of us. Three if you don’t count Eleanor.”
He smiled. “Maria.”
I looked a question at him.
“Tell her that Maria may come as well and that she will have a chance to make a match at Blackmoore.”
I considered his suggestion dubiously. “What will be her incentive, though?”
“To be rid of Maria. To give Maria a chance to make a match.” He paused, and a wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “To enrage my mother.”
I smiled crookedly. My mother and Mrs. Delafield had been polite enemies for the past four years, even though we continued to associate as families. I wondered if Henry knew the reason behind their dislike of each other. I had never broached the subject with him since I had found out what had caused their rift. And I certainly was not going to be the one to tell him.
“It could work,” he insisted.
“I don’t know if I can convince her,” I said. “She seems so intent on punishing me ...”
“And having Maria along is not a punishment?”
I laughed. “You are right. It is.” I chewed on my lip while thinking of Henry’s plan and had to admit to myself that I had no better plan to try. “Will your mother object, do you think? Or Sylvia?” Sylvia and Mrs. Delafield had been in London the past four months enjoying Sylvia’s first Season and were going to meet us at Blackmoore.
Henry shook his head. “Not a bit. There is plenty of room for one more.”
I shrugged, finally saying, “It is worth a try, at any rate. She cannot take away anything more important than my dearest dream.” I handed him the arrows. “I shall try at once, so that if this plan fails, we may still have time to try another.”
I took a dozen steps toward the house before I stopped and turned around. “Henry.” He had walked back to our shooting place but turned to look at me. “You are a good friend.”
He shook his head, nocking an arrow and lifting the bow. “Try again, Kate. Say, ‘You are The Giver ... ’” He pulled back on the string, then shot a look at me, as if waiting for me to continue.
I laughed. “Never. I shall never call you that.”
His grin flashed, and he turned back to send his arrow flying straight and true, finding easily the center of the target. He never did miss.
I found Mama in her bedchamber, sitting at her dressing table. She was already dressed for dinner, and her makeup containers were spread over the top of the table. She darted a glance my way as I walked through the door and began to speak before I had a chance to begin.
“Where have you been?” she asked, leaning forward to peer at her reflection. “I sent John to town to look for you. If you have been climbing out of your window again, I will have no choice but to have it nailed shut. And why have you not invited Henry Delafield to dinner during his mother’s absence? He should have been dining here at least twice a week, and now he is leaving tomorrow for Blackmoore, so we will have no further opportunity for his company. He has grown far too handsome not to have here, Kitty, and you must invite him for my sake, if you will not do it for your sisters’—”
“Mama, it is about my sisters that I have come to speak with you. In fact, I have come to offer you something you will want.” I took a breath, waiting to see if I had successfully stopped her in her rant. She raised one eyebrow but said nothing, which I took as a good sign. I went on, choosing my words with care. “You will agree, I believe, that Maria has been unbearable since Mr. Wilkes left the area. Surely you cannot enjoy yourself with her constant crying, and as long as she is here crying, she is not out meeting other eligible gentlemen.”
I paused. Mama leaned forward to look closely in the mirror while she rubbed rouge on her cheeks. I winced. She always wore too much rouge when company was coming for dinner. “Go on,” she muttered.
“Well.” I took a deep breath, then plunged in. “I am offering to take Maria off your hands and give her opportunities to meet new gentlemen ... at Blackmoore.”
Mama paused in her application, and I saw one eyebrow lift with interest. “Who gives you the authority to invite your sister to Blackmoore?”
“Henry. It was his idea.”
“Hmm.” I heard the note of interest in her voice. “So you have been with Henry.”
“Yes,” I admitted in a quiet voice, wishing I had not noticed the look on her face—wishing I had not seen the arch in her eyebrow, the twist of her mouth.
Quiet sat uncomfortably between us, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other while she focused all of her attention on the application of a single beauty mark high on her cheek.
After leaning back to look at herself from a new angle, she said, “Now that you mention it, I am sure Mrs. Delafield will invite many of her acquaintances to see the new wing she has had remodeled. It would be a nice opportunity to meet new gentlemen.”
More rouge, dabbed on her cheeks, and then, in an offhand voice, “I suppose I might allow you to go if you take Maria with you.”
I held perfectly still. I could not believe I had won so easily. “Do you mean it?”
She laughed. “Of course I mean it, you silly girl! Why should I deprive you of this opportunity?”
And then, because she seemed to be in such a calm, reasonable mood, I decided to press my luck. “And may I also write Aunt Charlotte and accept her invitation to accompany her to India?”
She slapped her open hand on the dressing table. “No! You are supposed to marry. Not every woman has a chance to look like us, Kitty. It is a sin against nature to throw such beauty away.”
My face flushed with anger. I hated it when she compared my appearance to hers. We did not look exactly alike. True, we did have the same coloring—the dark, wavy hair and the dark eyes. She had aged well. Her hair had not gone grey yet. Her eyebrows were still those dark, dramatic slashes that they had been when she was young. My eyebrows. The ones I had tried to shave off. It was what linked us together the most strongly. But in many ways I was not like her. In the most important ways, I was not like her at all.
“I am not going to marry, Mama. When are you going to believe me?”
She turned around on her stool to face me, her smile at odds with her steely gaze. “I will never believe such nonsense, Kitty. Because if I were to believe that, then I would have to admit that everything I have done for you has been a waste. A waste of my time and my attention and my resources. You would be a waste of a human being. Is that what you want to be?”
My face burned, my anger poised, like a wild animal coiled to spring. I gripped my hands together, fighting to keep my temper under control. After a deep breath, I spoke in a low voice. “Yes, Mama. I want to be a waste of a human being. I want you to give up hope of my ever marrying.”
She laughed. “How droll you are, Kitty.”
“Kate. I wish to be called Kate.” I wanted to scream in frustration. My voice rose, despite my great effort to control it. “How many times have I told you that? And how many times have I told you that I have no desire to be like you? Or Eleanor? To make a brilliant match—or any match at all! Hmm, Mama? How many times? Because Henry swears it has been at least a hundred, and I have held fast in my decision for nearly two years now. I will refuse every man who is fool enough to propose to me. So how many proposals must I refuse before you accept the fact that I will never marry?”
She narrowed her eyes, tilted her head to one side, and considered me in silence for a long moment, while my hands shook with anger and my face flushed hot. Finally she said in an offhand voice, “Three.” Then she turned back to her mirror.
My head jerked back with surprise. “What?”
“If you refuse three proposals while you are at Blackmoore, then I will accept the fact that you are a lost cause.” She picked up a hairbrush and ran it through her dark hair.
I caught my breath. “Are you saying that you will let me go to India if I refuse three proposals?”
Her smile flashed. “Oh, yes. That is exactly what I am saying.”
I stepped back, reeling, uncertain why, or how, I had suddenly won this allowance. “Thank you—” I started to say, but she held up one finger.
“And in return—”
My heart fell.
She laughed lightly at my expression. “Yes, darling, in return. For every bargain has two sides to it. Every interaction with another person is a potential transaction, an opportunity for gain. For everything you gain, you must pay. The wisest transaction is one in which you have the potential to gain far more than you pay.”
I hated it when she talked of business transactions. I hated how cold and unfeeling she was in her interactions with me. I hated feeling like I was nothing but a potential gain for her.
“Now let us discuss this transaction. If you succeed, you will go away to that godforsaken country where you might die or be lost at sea or some other calamity, and I will have lost a daughter who otherwise might marry well and make our family proud and provide for me in my old age.”
My mouth pulled tight with distaste.
“This is a great sacrifice I am willing to make for you, Kitty. And so you must be willing to make a sacrifice for me. If you fail to secure three proposals at Blackmoore, then you must agree to do whatever I ask of you.” She raised one dark eyebrow. “Whatever I ask of you, Kitty, without question, without running away, without fighting.”
My thoughts raced, balancing the allure of India against the very real consequence of being in my mother’s power should I fail. “Doing whatever you ask of me—that sounds like a highly open-ended agreement.”
“And?”
I hedged, trying to think of a valid reason to refuse her request. “And ... what if you were to ask me to do something criminal? I could not agree.”
She turned back to her mirror with a look of disgust. “You should know me better than that. I would not ask you to do something criminal. But if that concern would stop you, then perhaps you do not want to go to India as badly as you maintain.”
“I do!” My hand shot forward, as if attempting to grasp the hope she was dangling before me. “I do wish to go to India. I will agree to your terms, Mama. I will agree—without argument.”
A small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and a deep sense of foreboding filled me, causing my heart to fall. What had she to smile about? What trap had I just fallen into? I backed away from her, wishing away the unease I felt. I would prevail. I would win my proposals. I would go to India, far from my mother’s reach. There was nothing to fear. I lifted my chin and said in a confident voice, “I will win three proposals at Blackmoore, and as soon I have them, I will leave. I will go directly to Aunt Charlotte’s. I shall not come home first.” I was nearly to the door. I reached for the handle.
She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “It makes no difference to me when you leave, child. I will have washed my hands of you by then.” I opened the door. “Oh, Kitty?”
I paused, halfway through the doorway. She continued to brush her hair, gazing at her reflection with that small smile hovering around her lips. “No changing your mind, now. We have an agreement.”
I lifted an eyebrow in scorn. “You should know me better than that, Mama. I never change my mind.”
Watching her brush her hair, the hot anger I had been reining in gave a furious leap, breaking free of its restraints, and galloped through me. She had won, in some way. Even though I had gained what I had come here to ask of her, I still felt sure that she had somehow won. Some trap had closed over me, and the chill that sat deep in my heart testified of it. Now she did not even watch me as I left the room. I lingered by the door, while my anger grew hotter and hotter, until finally I said, “By the way, Mama, I will not be dining with the family tonight. You will have to give my excuses to Mr. Cooper.” I paused, then delivered my final line with a lifted chin. “And Mama? You wear entirely too much rouge.”
I closed the door quickly, just in time for it to block the hairbrush that flew across the room, aimed at my head. I heard it hit the wooden door with a loud thunk. I turned and sauntered away, a smile tugging at my lips. I was running before I reached the woods.
Henry was watching for my return. He turned to me as soon as I stepped into the clearing. “Well?”
“Well ...” I had hidden my grin, hoping to tease him. “I am afraid to say ...”
But I could not restrain myself. My grin slipped out from my control, and Henry’s face broke into a broad smile.
“Success?” he asked.
“Success.” I picked up my bow with a sigh of happiness, noting Cora still curled up on the grass next to Henry’s feet. That cat had always been attached to Henry.
“I was right, then,” he said, his smile broad and triumphant. “I am a genius, in other words.”
I laughed. “Your humility is astonishing, Henry.”
“I am a mother-manipulating genius who has, once again, granted you your heart’s desire, thus earning the title of ...” He grinned, his eyes all mischief.
I laughed again, shooting him a look meant to convey the fact that he was mad to think I would ever call him The Giver of My Heart’s Desire. This time when I took aim, my arrow flew straight and true, hitting the target right next to Henry’s arrow.
He glanced down at the cat sprawled in the grass. “What will you do with Cora while you’re away?”
“I shall ask Oliver to take care of her.”
He nodded. “It wouldn’t do to take her to Blackmoore.”
“I know. But I do hate to leave her behind.”
He pulled back the string of his bow, squinting at the target in the late afternoon sun. “Just don’t forget to take your heart with you to Blackmoore. I would hate for you to leave that behind.”