Page 23 of Better Love Next Time
Kitty pasted a smile. “Time for dinner?”
Clara frowned at the window where the sun attacked the panes from the east. It was still morning.
Kitty forced a giggle. “Oh. Time passes so quickly.”
In the distance, hounds bayed. Her father and brother killing something. Clara fidgeted.
“Clara? What is it?”
“Master Julian has arrived.”
Kitty leapt from her seat. “Did he ask for me?”
“And who else would the very devil be asking for?”
Joy, startling, painful, streaked through her. Rushing past Clara, she stopped at the front door. Her hands shook like Father Dunlevy’s when he sipped wine. Without warning, tears rushed like a waterfall. What if Julian returned the paints she had long lent him for rendering his ships more lifelike? Or the lock of her hair she had gifted him before he had left for Eton?
Clara turned Kitty around, scoured her face and neck with a handkerchief, and straightened her fichu. “There. Pretty as a penny and fit as a fiddle.”
If only she felt fit as a fiddle on the inside. “Thank you.”
“Lucifer is waiting.” Clara swung the door open wide, pressed her to the stoop, and shut the door.
The very air electrified about her. An easterly wind harried the tatty rose bushes overgrowing the steps. Julian stood there, at the foot, framed by the topiaries’ whimsical shapes lost to neglect.
His coat hooked on his finger draped jauntily over his right shoulder. In his left hand, he clutched a nosegay of corncockles. He averted his eyes and dug his boot heel to a weed sprouting from the sparse gravel. “That, er, other boy told me you’d be here.”
“He did?”
“Mm-hmm. And…” He swallowed. “I despise Eton. Nothing but stupid boys.”
“I thought you liked boys.”
“Suppose I’m particular now.” He brushed his jaw against his shoulder. “I’m not going back.”
A flock of starlings cackled beyond them. “Will your father agree to it?”
“I, er, knocked out a few teeth from a snotty bastard when he stole one of your letters and read it at luncheon. I might not be welcome back.”
Kitty took two steps. “How wonderful. I mean, I’m so very sorry he lost his teeth but…”
“And I might have stolen my father’s seal and forged a letter that he was withdrawing me from school. Last November.” He leaned into the step, flexing his thigh. “Then I might have run off to Southampton and apprenticed with a shipwright.”
If anyone ever asked her, a score of years from today, when she was old and grey, when she had truly fallen in love with Julian St. Clair, she would know. Today. The boy who risked all for his dreams.
“I’m returning in September,” he said. “That’s a secret, by the by.”
“But your father. He’s sure to discover your deception.”
He shrugged. “I might have stolen the school’s seal and been forging my marks and the headmaster’s letters, praising my, you know, exemplary behavior.”
He shoved the flowers at her. Taking the final two steps, Kitty reached for them, sliding her hand beneath his, and he didn’t grimace or pull away. He held her there, entwining his fingers with hers.
“Look, Kitty. I—” He squared his shoulders. “I missed you.”
“Oh, I thought I’d die if I never saw you again.”
“I didn’t think I’d die.” He winked. “I figured God had something worse in mind, like having me live without you.”
