LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Sixteen

      The late morning sun warmed Katrina’s garden as she sat on a wooden bench with her box of watercolours. Peering closely at a teacup filled with violets, she concentrated on trying to recreate this small reminder of home. As she swirled her sable-haired brush through the purple and blue paint Julian’s comment about the colour of her eyes when they’d sat together with his grandmother drifted into her thoughts. It made her smile.

      Glancing down, she realised she’d muddled the colours together into an unusable mess. There had to be a way to shove him out of her mind. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath of the floral-scented air, and listened to the birds chirp around her. If she tried hard enough she could imagine she was sitting in her garden back home in Tarrytown, overlooking the sparkling Hudson River.

      It was peaceful there.

      It was quiet.

      ‘Have you managed to fall asleep like that?’

      Katrina opened one eye and met Sarah’s quizzical gaze. And just like that her peaceful bubble burst.

      ‘What were you doing?’ Sarah asked, taking a seat on the bench across from her.

      Katrina cleaned her paintbrush in a glass of water. ‘I was resting my eyes.’

      ‘It is lovely here in the shade,’ Sarah said as she untied the cinnamon silk ribbon of her straw bonnet and casually tossed it beside her. ‘And what a charming bunch of violets. I have little skill with a paintbrush, much to my mother’s displeasure.’

      ‘Skill or patience?’

      ‘Both, I suppose. How long will that take you to complete?’

      Katrina shrugged and continued to add petals to the paper. ‘I find the process soothing.’

      Or at least it had been until Sarah began rhythmically tapping her foot on the gravel.

      ‘Is there something you wanted, Sarah?’

      ‘I was hoping you would accompany me to Bond Street.’

      ‘We were shopping only yesterday.’

      ‘I’ve reconsidered those slippers. You remember? The ones with the fine needlework?’

      ‘I have no wish to move along with the crowds today. Could it possibly wait for another day?’

      ‘I suppose it could, but— What is that?’

      Katrina looked up to find Wilkins, walking towards them on the garden path, carrying a large vase of purple and yellow flowers. As he drew closer, she realised they weren’t exactly flowers.

      ‘Pardon me, miss. These came for you, and I was wondering what you would like me to do with this unusual arrangement?’

      ‘Aren’t those weeds?’ Sarah asked, as she narrowed her eyes at the objects in question.

      ‘I believe so, Miss Forrester,’ he replied. ‘Thistle and ragwort, if I am not mistaken. Would you prefer I place the stems in the garden for you, miss?’

      Although they were indeed weeds, the arrangement had been created with obvious care. Katrina thought the contrast of purple and yellow to be rather striking. But why would someone send them to her?

      ‘Did they arrive with a note, Wilkins?’

      He handed her a folded piece of paper sealed with a blob of red wax.

      True beauty resides in the most unexpected places.

      When she read the message she knew they could only have come from one man—the only man who had ever told her she was ‘most unexpected’. She folded the paper and brought it to her lips to cover her smile. He was clever. She would give him that. And, as much as she tried, it was difficult to remain unaffected by Julian.

      When she directed Wilkins to place them in her bedroom he stared at her as if she belonged in Bedlam. The moment he was far enough away, Sarah jumped up and sat next to her.

      ‘Who are they from? Did Mr Armstrong send them?’

      ‘No, he did not. They’re from an acquaintance.’

      Sarah eyed her with open curiosity. ‘If someone sent me weeds I do not believe I would be smiling. Unless—’ Her eyes widened with realisation and she snapped her lips shut. She waited until Wilkins had disappeared through the terrace door before she continued. ‘They are from Lyonsdale.’

      Katrina looked away. ‘What would cause you to believe so?’

      ‘Because you only smile like that when he is near. What did the card say?’

      ‘It is of little importance.’

      ‘Why will you not tell me?’ Sarah said, fisting her hands on her lap.

      Katrina turned back to her friend. ‘There is nothing to tell.’

      ‘After finding the two of you together, I wish you would admit you fancy him.’

      She could not allow herself to think such thoughts. If she thought too much about how she felt about him heartache would be her only reward. ‘What good would it do? We have no future together.’

      ‘The Duke’s questionable taste in botanicals paints a different picture. Has he called on you?’

      Katrina rubbed the tightness in her chest. She hated lying to Sarah, but she and Julian had promised not to tell anyone about their secret agreement. ‘Of course not. The man is a duke and I am American. I possess no title and have no impressive heritage. And, I have heard rumours that he is carrying on a liaison with Lady Wentworth.’ Now Sarah would stop pestering her about him.

      ‘You are prettier.’

      Katrina sent her an incredulous look. It was an admirable attempt on her friend’s part, but Katrina knew how beautiful Lady Wentworth was.

      ‘Well, you are more amiable, and probably much more intelligent.’

      That made Katrina laugh, and she was grateful to have found such a good friend.

      ‘Why do you believe he sent those...weeds?’ Sarah continued.

      Katrina shrugged and returned her focus to the violets. His cheeky gesture had made her smile.

      ‘You cannot convince me you are indifferent to him, and he is obviously quite taken with you. Let me help you with this.’

      ‘Oh, no,’ Katrina said, pointing her paintbrush at Sarah. ‘Do not do a thing. Do you understand, Sarah?’

      ‘But I can help you. As you are aware, my presence will add an air of discretion to your encounters, and it will also protect you in the event that you discover his taste in most things is consistent with his taste in botanicals. Please let me help you.’

      ‘I said no. Do not misinterpret a fond regard for romance.’

      ‘But he kissed you!’

      ‘What?’ Katrina glanced around in panic, her heart racing.

      ‘At the Whitfield ball. You cannot tell me he did not kiss you. When I entered that room you looked like a woman about to swoon.’

      She needed to stop the pounding of her heart. ‘I do not swoon. I never swoon. And, more importantly, we did not kiss. There was no kiss.’

      ‘Well,

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