Saturday's Child Page 6

  They rode to Nob Hill in silence. Even Edith seemed to have run out of things to say. When the carriage drew to a halt a block away from the Sterling mansion, she thanked Quentin fervently before tumbling out of the carriage and hurrying up the hill.

  Quentin stepped down from the carriage and turned to offer Katie his hand. She set her fingers in his, feeling the strength of his grip as he helped her down. She could still feel it even after he'd released her.

  "You were very kind. It meant a lot to Edith."

  "I enjoyed seeing Louis set back on his heels. He seems to consider himself the sole guardian of San Francisco society. It was pleasant to see him so thoroughly cowed."

  Katie smiled up at him, sharing his amusement, and for a moment, it was possible to forget the chasm that society had placed between them.

  She left him there with a murmured goodbye, moving quickly up the hill. Only sheer force of will prevented her from looking back to see if he was watching her.

  It was easy enough to slip in by the back stairs. It was only when she reached the second floor that she had to traverse a small portion of the main hallway. The last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Dixon to see her and question her attire. She peered out the doorway, carefully making sure the way was clear before she hurried toward the stairs that led to the third floor and the sanctuary of the sewing room.

  "Well, well, well. What have we here? It seems the little dove is a bird of paradise after all." Katie froze at the sound of Joseph Landers's voice. She turned reluctantly to face him as he came out of his room.

  "Sir." She curtsied woodenly, keeping her expression blank.

  He sauntered toward her, his eyes taking her in from the top of her elegant hat to the tip of her shoe that peeped out from beneath her skirt. When his eyes came back to her face, Katie shivered.

  "And what are you all turned out for? Don't tell me, let me guess. You had an assignation with my upright cousin." He saw her stiffen and his grin took on an extra edge of malice. "My room happens to look out on the street and I just happened to be passing by the window and noticed him letting you out of the carriage. Not very gallant of him not to drive you up to the door. And if he's trying to keep you a secret, he really should let you off farther from the house. After all, what if Aunt Sylvie had happened to see what I saw? I don't think she'd be at all amused."

  He reached out to lay his fingers on Katie's cheek. She drew back, shivering at the chill that seemed to emanate from his hand.

  "Mr. Sterling happened to see me at the bottom of the hill and he was kind enough to offer me a ride," she said with as much calm as she could muster.

  "That's Quentin. Always the gallant gentleman." The malicious glint in his eyes told her that he didn't believe her story for a minute.

  "If there's nothing I can do for you, sir, I really must get back to work."

  "Oh, I can think of any number of things you could do for me, Katie, but none of them proper to suggest right now. Perhaps later?"

  She turned away without bothering to curtsy, forcing herself to an even pace as she climbed the stairs. Behind her, she could feel his eyes on her until she was out of sight. It was not a comfortable feeling.

  Chapter 4

  It was almost a relief when the last few days before the wedding swept the household up in a frenzy of activity. It seemed that there were not enough hours in the day to accomplish everything that had to be done before Miss Sterling could be properly wed. Everything had to be washed and pressed or polished till it gleamed. The huge house bustled with guests and servants, all intent on preparing for the wedding, with occasionally conflicting goals.

  At the last minute, Mrs. Sterling decided that her daughter's wedding dress required more alterations. Perhaps she'd noticed that Ann's small figure hadn't quite disappeared in the rows of lace and tucks. Or perhaps she was interested in seeing just how many pounds of lace and beading the girl could carry without collapsing from the weight of it.

  Whatever the reason for the decision, Katie was called on to do the work. She marked the position of the new decorations without a word. Not that anyone would have been interested in her opinion. Just as they weren't interested in the fact that she barely had time for the work she'd already been given, let alone this new task.

  Carrying the heavy gown upstairs, she muttered to herself, "It already looks like a Christmas tree. Maybe I should just put some candle holders on the shoulders so that Miss Sterling can go to her groom all lit up like a holiday."

  The image made her smile and she took the last few steps more quickly, coming to an abrupt halt as she stepped onto the landing and found herself face to face with Joseph Landers. Her smile faded, her hands tightening on the heavy gown. Ever since the luncheon with Quentin, it seemed as if Joseph were everywhere. If she ventured out of the sewing room, she was bound to bump into him. He rarely spoke, but he watched her in a way that reminded her of a cat watching a particularly delectable mouse.

  He looked at her for a long, silent moment and then his tongue came out, flicking over his lips. Katie controlled a shudder.

  "Well, it looks as if you've quite a lot to do," he said, glancing at the gown draped over her arm, but his eyes lingered on her bosom.

  "I've enough to keep me busy." She kept her tone polite, wishing that he weren't blocking her path to the stairway. The stuffy little sewing room, which sometimes seemed such a prison, now looked like a haven.

  "You don't like me, do you, little Katie?"

  "It isn't my place to have an opinion, Mr. Landers."

  Disappointment flickered in his eyes and she knew that he'd have preferred a more fiery answer. The man actually found the idea that she detested him exciting.

  "I'm afraid I may have made a poor impression on you when we first met. The trip from London was quite tiring and I'd only been here a few short days. I'm afraid I was a trifle cranky."

  She did not think it possible to dislike him any more than she already did, but she found this ingratiating front even more offensive.

  "Tots grow cranky. Adults are merely ill-tempered." Katie regretted her tart answer when she saw interest flare in his eyes, confirming her guess that he preferred hostility to a polite front.

  "You like my dear cousin Quentin, don't you? You think he's such a gentleman. Well, perhaps I'll have the chance to show you how much more interesting a real man can be."

  Anger flared deep inside her, chasing caution away. She'd been working long hours with too little sleep. Her muscles ached from hunching over her stitching, her head hurt from too many hours spent indoors. She allowed her eyes to flick up and down his lean frame, finally meeting his pale gaze head-on, her contempt plain to read.

  "And where do you propose to find a real man to show me?"

  It took a moment for the question to sink in. Joseph's face paled, then flushed red. He took a quick step toward her and Katie tensed, ready to fly down the stairs at her back.

  He controlled himself with an effort. "You'll regret that, my girl. I'll show you exactly what a real man does with impertinent servants. Soon, my girl. Very soon."

  She met his eyes bravely, refusing to let her fear show. After a frozen moment, he brushed by her. She didn't wait to hear his footsteps fade but hurried into the sewing room, shutting the door behind her and leaning back against it, wishing that there was a key in the lock.

  "You've made a mistake, Katie McBride," she whispered. "You've only sparked his interest."

  With a shake of her head, she forced the unpleasant scene from her mind. What was done was done and she couldn't change it. Staring at the dress in her hands, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Only five days till Miss Sterling's wedding and more work than any two women could finish in that time.

  Reluctantly, she'd given up going back home, unwilling to spend the time the journey there and back cost. It made more sense to sleep in the tiny room where she did her work. Colin had protested but he'd finally given in, admitting that he'd rather she stayed
at the Sterling mansion than attempt the journey home after dark.

  The hours and the days before the wedding blurred until Katie couldn't tell one from the other. She'd spent so many hours in this one room that the world outside began to seem a distant fantasy. Mrs. Ferriweather had sent another girl to help her, but she hadn't the skills to do more than simple seam work.

  Katie set her to work at the sewing machine and the quiet rhythm of the treadle provided a background for the days. Katie herself did all the fine handwork, applying delicate braids and laces, adding beadwork where Mrs. Sterling thought it appropriate.

  By the day before the wedding, there was nothing to be done but row upon row of beading to be applied to the bodice of the wedding gown. Katie sent her assistant back to Mrs. Ferriweather and applied herself to the task, hardly lifting her head from her work.

  The monotony of the stitching left too much time for thinking and she found her thoughts turning, as they did far too often, to Quentin Sterling.

  "Yes, you are a fool, Katie McBride, even setting aside that he's a Sterling—and wealthy in his own right, too—what would he see in you? You're passing attractive but never likely to be a beauty and you've little to recommend you beyond the fact that you're healthy. There's nothing to draw his eyes, even if he weren't who he is and you weren't who you are. But he is and you are and that's the end of that."

  The thought was surprisingly depressing, all the more so for having been said out loud. She blinked, clearing her blurred vision as her fingers flew over the bodice. She'd worked into the wee hours the night before and risen with the birds to start again. She'd heard the big old grandfather clock downstairs strike not long ago and she'd counted the stately bongs but she couldn't remember how many there'd been. It must be after noon, and she'd not left this chair all morning.

  Maybe that would explain why she felt slightly lightheaded and why it seemed so logical that she should be talking to herself. Or perhaps it was that she hadn't eaten. She'd gone down to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a slice of bread and butter that morning. The kitchen had been abustle with preparations for the wedding dinner.

  Edith had promised to bring her noon meal as soon as she could, but she was likely as busy as Katie and had not yet had the time to climb the three flights of stairs from the kitchen. Not that she was hungry. She hadn't felt hungry in a long time. But this odd, hollow feeling in her head might have something to do with a lack of nourishment. It was hard to think of anything beyond the next stitch. She felt as if she'd spent most of her life with a needle in her hand.

  She heard the door open but it took several seconds for the sound to register fully. When it did, she slid the needle into the fabric and let the garment fall to her lap. Her fingers had been pinched around a needle for so long that it took a deliberate effort to loosen them.

  Looking up, she blinked to focus bleary eyes on her visitor, expecting to see Edith with a tray in her hands. But the figure standing in the doorway was much too large for Edith. Color rushed into her cheeks and she pushed back her hair with shaking fingers, suddenly aware of how unkempt she must appear.

  "Mr. Sterling." Her voice was hoarse from lack of use.

  "Hello, Katie. No, don't get up." She obeyed his command, uncertain that her legs would hold her.

  "What are you doing here?" She realized how blunt the question sounded and struggled to rephrase it, though her brain felt as sluggish as her legs. "I mean, what can I do for you?"

  "Nothing." He stepped into the room, leaving the door open for propriety. "The whole house seems to have gone mad with wedding preparations. I'm seeking a small sanctuary. Do you mind?"

  When he smiled at her so winningly, she'd not have minded almost anything he chose to do.

  "Not at all. I'm afraid there aren't many places to sit."

  "Don't worry about it. I've sat more these past few weeks than I have in years. I'm not accustomed to spending so much time in a sitting position, unless I'm in the saddle of a horse. Do you ride, Katie?"

  She thought of the one time she'd ridden a horse about Central Park, her leg awkwardly hooked around the saddle while the horse seemed to go wherever he pleased, paying no mind to her futile tugging on the reins.

  "I've ridden," she said cautiously.

  "In Wyoming, I spend most of my days in the saddle."

  "You sound as if you miss it."

  "I do. More than I'd thought possible." He crossed the small room to look out the window. Soft rain fell outside, running down the city's famous hills in small rivers, washing the streets clean. There was something melancholy about rain falling on a city. Rain should fall on fields and mountains where the earth could drink it in.

  He'd been here too long. Maybe he shouldn't have come in the first place. It had seemed like such a good idea when his mother wrote to tell him of Ann's wedding. Winter still held the ranch in its grip and he'd not been home in nearly three years.

  Within him there'd grown a need to find someone to share his life with, someone to celebrate the new calves in spring and curse the early frost in autumn.

  Someone who could make his simple house into a home. A woman who could work beside him.

  But his grandfather had been right when he said that this was the wrong place to find such a woman. Why hadn't it occurred to him that a woman of his own class would never consent to live in the kind of primitive surroundings he could offer?

  "Are you thinking of your ranch?" Katie's quiet question made him realize how long he'd been standing there, wrapped in thought.

  He turned, smiling in apology. "I do believe I've spent too much time alone. I've forgotten my manners. Yes, I was thinking of my ranch."

  "You've not said much about it. Is Wyoming a pretty land?"

  "Pretty? No, I don't think you'd call it that. Wild, exciting, stunning perhaps but not pretty. It's too big, too raw for that."

  "And you love it for its wildness."

  "Yes. I suppose I do. There's something exciting about a land that won't ever be tamed. It's a constant challenge."

  "It seems to me that land is the one constant thing. The one thing you can depend on to always be there. A place you can sink roots and grow." She leaned her head back against the chair, her hands idle in her lap, her eye dreamy. Looking at her, Quentin noticed her pallor for the first time. There were dark circles under her eyes.

  "You look as if you've not slept."

  Katie shrugged, uncomfortable beneath his concerned regard. "I'll sleep tomorrow. There's still much to be done."

  "And I'm keeping you from it."

  "That's not what I meant."

  "But it's the truth. I'll leave you and let you finish your work. I suppose I can find somewhere else to hide from the turmoil. I thank you for the moment's respite you've provided."

  Walking down the narrow flight of stairs, Quentin found himself wondering just what had possessed him to seek out Katie McBride. Certainly, if any of his family should discover it, they'd think he'd gone quite mad. Stepping into the second floor hall, he nearly bumped into Edith, who was carrying a tray full of used dishes.

  "Mr. Sterling, sir." Edith bobbed an awkward curtsy. Since their luncheon together, she'd not known quite how to treat him.

  "Edith. Just the person I was looking for. I'd like you to have cook make up a tray—just some soup and bread. Oh, and one of the cherry tarts we had at lunch. If she argues, tell her it's for me."

  "Yes, sir. Do you want it brought to your room?"

  "Take it up to Katie. I don't think she's bothered to eat today."

  "No, she hasn't. I was going to take her something just as soon as I could."

  "Well, do it now and tell anyone who argues that it's on my orders. After all, we both know how important lunch can be." Edith smiled at the reminder of their small adventure.

  "Yes, sir. That we do. I'll take a tray up to her right away."

  Quentin watched her hurry off before starting toward his grandfather's room. But he'd gone only a step when he
heard a most unwelcome voice.

  "You're wise to keep the girl's strength up, cousin."

  Stiffening, Quentin turned to look at his cousin who slithered out of the reading alcove that had concealed him.

  "Joseph."

  "Quentin." Joseph mocked his cousin's cold greeting. "I doubt that Aunt Sylvie would approve, you know. Not in her own household. She's one to think that that sort of thing should be handled outside the hallowed doors of domestic bliss."

  "I'm afraid I haven't the least idea what you're talking about." Quentin brushed a piece of lint off the sleeve of his pale gray jacket.

  "There's no use pretending with me, cousin. I saw that girl get out of your carriage last week and you've just come from visiting her. Rather handy, her having a room all to herself like that. Tell me, is she as fiery as that hair promises?"

  The look in Quentin's eyes would have been enough to stop another man but Joseph had never been one to take hints.

  "I suggest you not say another word, lest I be forced to knock your teeth through the back of your head." Quentin's tone was quietly icy, leaving no doubts about the sincerity of his threat.

  "There's no need to be so touchy, cousin," Joseph protested. "I'm certainly not the sort to tell Aunt Sylvie what's going on under her nose. We men have to stick together, after all. I only thought that perhaps you might consider sharing the bounty, keeping it in the family, as it were."

  Quentin grabbed a fistful of his cousin's shirt, startling a cry from Joseph as he was shoved back against the wall.

  "You are to stay away from that girl. In fact, you are to stay away from every female in this household. If I find that you have laid so much as a finger on anyone under this roof, I shall take great pleasure in tearing your sniveling head from your body."

  He released his cousin as abruptly as he'd grabbed him. While Joseph was still trying to catch the breath that Quentin's grip had denied him, Quentin drew a snowy handkerchief from the vest pocket of his coat and wiped his hand, the very casualness of the gesture making it more of an insult than if he'd made a production of it. With a last cool glance, he turned and walked away.