Blackmoore by Julianne Donaldson

Chapter 30

A Year and a Half Before

“I was hoping I would find you here.” Henry emerged from the woods and crossed the clearing to where I sat in the shade of a tree with my sketchbook. I looked up with a smile as he sat on the grass next to me, sprawling out with a sigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“My aunt Agnes has arrived.” Cora immediately rose from her feline lounging position on the grass and slunk over to Henry, rubbing her head against his chest until he scratched her behind her ears.

Henry’s aunt Agnes was his father’s oldest sister. Since Mr. Delafield’s death, she had made it a point to visit every year and in general make life at Delafield Manor completely unbearable for everyone there with her nosiness and her prying and her rearrangement of things.

I smiled, thinking it wasn’t such a bad thing for the Delafields to be miserable once a year. Henry had life entirely too easy, what with inheriting his grandfather’s estate and being so handsome and smart and likable as well.

“I am glad she’s here,” I said. “Somebody needs to keep you humble.”

He smirked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Humility is my finest quality, Kate.”

I rolled my eyes, then watched with disgust as Cora stretched and purred and nuzzled his hand with her nose. “She acts more like a dog than a proper cat whenever you come around.”

Henry chuckled. “You sound jealous.”

“Of you?” I scoffed. “I understand, as you obviously do not, that nobody can really own a cat, and that cats give their affections without logic. I simply don’t understand why she behaves that way with you.”

His smile flashed, a glint of mischief in his grey eyes. “I meant that you are jealous of the cat.”

I lifted both eyebrows. “Of the cat?”

He nodded, his smile ripe with mischief, as Cora rubbed herself against his chest.

“Don’t be absurd. I have never felt the least desire for you to scratch me behind my ears.”

Henry laughed, a full-throated, hearty laugh.

“What is so funny?” I asked him.

He shook his head.

I frowned. “Tell me.”

He looked down, a smile teasing his lips. “Not funny,” he murmured. “Just delightful. The way you take everything literally.”

I frowned and watched him with misgiving, trusting neither his words nor the smile that did not fade from his mouth or his eyes.

“And as for why Cora acts like this around me, I think you know the answer to that as well as I,” he said, his voice quieter now. He leaned closer, as if to whisper a secret. I saw that even now he still had a faint trail of freckles across the top of his tanned cheeks. I saw that his eyelashes were still black as coal. I saw that the grey in his eyes still had that ring of charcoal around the edge. My heart quickened at his nearness, as surely as it had every time he drew close like this. Ever since the day he rescued me from the river. My heart was predictable that way.

“Why is that?”

“Because Cora is your heart, and your heart loves me.”

My face turned hot. Cora further embarrassed me by stepping on Henry’s chest and rubbing her head against his chin.

“Look at this, Kate. Look at how your heart loves me. Your heart adores me. It worships me, even.”

“It does not, Henry Delafield.” I threw a handful of leaves at his head.

He ducked, came up grinning, and said, “Your heart would like to curl up next to mine and never leave—”

“Hush! It’s not true! Someone will hear you!” I threw another handful of leaves, as he ducked and yelled out, “Kate’s heart loves—”

Without a thought in my head I lunged at him and covered his mouth with my hands. He fell backward, laughing, and I grabbed more leaves and threw them at him and he was saying all sorts of nonsense about my heart, and the leaves were flying in the air between us, and one got stuck on my mouth, and I laughed and threw it at Henry’s head, and suddenly he grabbed my wrists, and I fell back, off balance. “Admit it,” he said. “Admit your heart adores me.”

“I will never surrender,” I said, laughing, and wrenched my wrists free, pushing him over and finding the spot under his arms where he had been ticklish as a boy. I grabbed him around the ribs, tickling. He laughed, surprise in the sound, and squirmed. But I was relentless.

“You rob me of my dignity, Kate,” he said, chuckling, and grabbing at my hands, pulling them away from his ribs, pulling me over, rolling over so that I was pinned beneath him.

He had my wrists pinned to the ground, by my head, and he leaned over me, his eyes crinkled with smiles, his grin as bright as I had ever seen it. My cheeks ached from smiling. I felt his chest rise and fall against my own, felt the weight of his legs across mine. My heart picked up speed. The sun cast its golden glow over the clearing, over us.

“I remember you saying you had outgrown being ticklish,” I said, breathless.

“I thought I had outgrown it.” His cheeks were red, and leaves were caught in his hair. His dark grey eyes smiled into mine. “I suppose there are some things I will never outgrow.” His smile softened, lifting up higher on one corner than the other, his eyes full of something like regret and affection mixed together. “Like you.” His voice was nearly a whisper now, husky and threaded with remnants of his laugh. “I doubt I will ever outgrow you, Kate.”

And in that moment I knew. I knew that he was right—my heart did adore him. I adored him. I loved him. My heart was pounding, my breath coming fast. Something was happening. Something was shifting, changing. We were approaching a line we would never be able to uncross. His gaze moved from my eyes to my mouth, and I saw, with a leap of my heart, a look of longing in his eyes.

“Will you dance with me tonight?” he asked in a low voice. Tonight was the ball at Delafield Manor. I swallowed hard, my heart galloping so furiously I was sure he could feel it. Yes, I wanted to dance with him. Of course. I opened my mouth to answer, but before I could, a voice cried out in surprise.

“Henry? Kate?”

Henry jerked, and I did too, at the sound of Sylvia’s voice. He rolled away, and I sat up quickly, appalled at how we must have looked.

“What ... what is ...” Sylvia stopped, her face shocked, as if she was too stunned to find a question for us. “What is going on?” she finally asked.

“Oh, that?” Henry said. He was lounging back on one elbow, looking as if nothing could disturb him. “Kate was just stripping me.”

I nearly choked. “I was not!” I cried, throwing him a furious look.

“Stripping me of my dignity, I mean.” His expression was all merriment and mischief. “She was tickling me. Quite an undignified moment for a strong young man like myself, to be bested by a little girl.” He levered himself to his feet, stood, and held out a hand to me. I slapped it away and lurched to my feet.

“I am not a little girl,” I muttered, and looked ashamedly at Sylvia, my face on fire. “Your brother is an atrocious tease, and I was simply trying to hold my own. Which is practically impossible.”

Sylvia’s gaze moved from me to Henry and back. She did not look anywhere near as amused as Henry. My heart fell. This was not good. I could tell it by the closed, distant expression on her face.

“I was just coming to find Henry because Mama is looking for him. Ball preparations, I assume.” She bit her lip.

“Yes!” I pushed my hair back. “Yes, I am sure you both need to get back. I will ... see you there. At the ball.” Henry was watching me with that mischievous look and something else too—something that made me blush and made my heart pound. It made me wonder if he knew the truth—if he knew that I did love him. Sylvia looked stern and uncomfortable. I wondered if she knew the truth as well. I wondered what she thought about it if she did know.

It was too awkward for words. I backed away, gesturing over my shoulder. “I should ... go.”

I ran home with fear and hope battling for dominance within my pounding heart.