O'Connor, his chest swelling with pride. "Our Kate can handle anything on four legs, but that is not the point. She should not be racing through the park, no matter how early in the morning she rides."
"Your father is right, Kate, and you know it, don't you?"
"Yes, Mama," she replied.
"Good. Then it shan't happen again?"
"No, Mama."
"Good. You know, Kate, I do believe I am feeling
strong enough to accompany you to the shops this afternoon. You have your first fitting with the seamstress, do you not?"
"That would be wonderful," said Kate, her green eyes meeting her father's. "Are you sure you are well enough?"
"Yes, dear. It's only right that your mother should go with you on such a momentous occasion. Besides, I may run into some old acquaintances, and that will mean more invitations, more balls, and more suitors for you to choose from."
"I... yes, Mama."
Anne O'Connor rose with the help of her daughter and husband. Leaning heavily on his arm, she allowed him to lead her to the door where she paused.
"Can you be ready in an hour, my Kate?"
"Yes, Mama. I'll be ready."
The door closed on her parents, and Kate rushed to the bed, flinging herself down on it, her face buried in the pillow while the sobs racked her body.
It was unspoken, the knowledge that her mother would never fully recover her health. It was always there, looming over everyone in the household, that Mrs. O'Connor might not recover this time, from this miscarriage.
When she had discovered that her mother was once more with child, she had raged at her father, calling him a beast and worse. Her mother's quiet reprimand had taken the wind out of her sails. Love, she insisted softly, had a mind of its own, and the baby was simply a result of their love—for each other and for her. How, her mother had whispered, could she not hope for another child like her beloved Kate?
It had ended like the others. Her mother had lost the baby just before coming to London for her daughter's
first Season. The experience had weakened her further, and she had yet to recover. The London physician had confided to Kate and her father that Mrs. O'Connor would likely never be the same, that the weakness might never leave her. Her mother, however, had called the physician a quack and assured them that she would be fine in time.
Kate sat up and dried her tears. After bathing her face in the cool water on the nightstand, she began removing her riding habit. Her mother wanted her to have a Season in London, just as she had done before meeting her Irish rogue of a husband. She was certain her long-legged, full-figured Kate would be a great success.
Gazing candidly at her wild red curls and freckled nose, Kate doubted she would take London by storm. To her own critical eyes, she looked too much like her father, and she was more accustomed to the stable than the drawing room. But for her Mama, she would endure anything.
Making a moue at her image, she turned away and donned her dark red gown with its matching spencer trimmed in gold braid. She loved the gown, which fitted her well and suited her coloring. With a final glance in the glass, she left the room, walking down the short corridor to her mother's room to help her down the stairs.
"Your papa ordered the carriage, did he not, Miss Kate?" asked Dolly, her mother's faithful maid.
"Yes, it is waiting at the front door. Is that cloak warm enough, Mama? We do not want you to get a chill."
"Certainly not," said the maid.
"I am fine," insisted Mrs. O'Connor, smiling at them and shaking her head. "Each of you give me an arm on the stairs, and we will manage admirably."
"Yes, Mama," said Kate.
"Yes, madam," said Dolly.
When they were finally settled in the small landaulet, Kate breathed a sigh of relief. The coachman sent the horses down the street, traveling at a sedate pace.
"Papa says you are to have everything I deem necessary," said Mrs. O'Connor.
"Surely we have already ordered everything that is necessary," said
"Your father is right, Kate, and you know it, don't you?"
"Yes, Mama," she replied.
"Good. Then it shan't happen again?"
"No, Mama."
"Good. You know, Kate, I do believe I am feeling
strong enough to accompany you to the shops this afternoon. You have your first fitting with the seamstress, do you not?"
"That would be wonderful," said Kate, her green eyes meeting her father's. "Are you sure you are well enough?"
"Yes, dear. It's only right that your mother should go with you on such a momentous occasion. Besides, I may run into some old acquaintances, and that will mean more invitations, more balls, and more suitors for you to choose from."
"I... yes, Mama."
Anne O'Connor rose with the help of her daughter and husband. Leaning heavily on his arm, she allowed him to lead her to the door where she paused.
"Can you be ready in an hour, my Kate?"
"Yes, Mama. I'll be ready."
The door closed on her parents, and Kate rushed to the bed, flinging herself down on it, her face buried in the pillow while the sobs racked her body.
It was unspoken, the knowledge that her mother would never fully recover her health. It was always there, looming over everyone in the household, that Mrs. O'Connor might not recover this time, from this miscarriage.
When she had discovered that her mother was once more with child, she had raged at her father, calling him a beast and worse. Her mother's quiet reprimand had taken the wind out of her sails. Love, she insisted softly, had a mind of its own, and the baby was simply a result of their love—for each other and for her. How, her mother had whispered, could she not hope for another child like her beloved Kate?
It had ended like the others. Her mother had lost the baby just before coming to London for her daughter's
first Season. The experience had weakened her further, and she had yet to recover. The London physician had confided to Kate and her father that Mrs. O'Connor would likely never be the same, that the weakness might never leave her. Her mother, however, had called the physician a quack and assured them that she would be fine in time.
Kate sat up and dried her tears. After bathing her face in the cool water on the nightstand, she began removing her riding habit. Her mother wanted her to have a Season in London, just as she had done before meeting her Irish rogue of a husband. She was certain her long-legged, full-figured Kate would be a great success.
Gazing candidly at her wild red curls and freckled nose, Kate doubted she would take London by storm. To her own critical eyes, she looked too much like her father, and she was more accustomed to the stable than the drawing room. But for her Mama, she would endure anything.
Making a moue at her image, she turned away and donned her dark red gown with its matching spencer trimmed in gold braid. She loved the gown, which fitted her well and suited her coloring. With a final glance in the glass, she left the room, walking down the short corridor to her mother's room to help her down the stairs.
"Your papa ordered the carriage, did he not, Miss Kate?" asked Dolly, her mother's faithful maid.
"Yes, it is waiting at the front door. Is that cloak warm enough, Mama? We do not want you to get a chill."
"Certainly not," said the maid.
"I am fine," insisted Mrs. O'Connor, smiling at them and shaking her head. "Each of you give me an arm on the stairs, and we will manage admirably."
"Yes, Mama," said Kate.
"Yes, madam," said Dolly.
When they were finally settled in the small landaulet, Kate breathed a sigh of relief. The coachman sent the horses down the street, traveling at a sedate pace.
"Papa says you are to have everything I deem necessary," said Mrs. O'Connor.
"Surely we have already ordered everything that is necessary," said
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