Katie’s wrists trembled in my grasp, and suddenly I guessed her distress hadn’t necessarily been a result of spilling the tray, but rather the cause of it. My anxiety for her rose as I considered what possible mischief she might have gotten into. “Something is terribly wrong, Katie, isn’t it? You know you can tell me anything. You can trust me.”
To further coax her confidence I shot Brady a glance over my shoulder. He read me correctly and, pushing away from the cabinets, sauntered back to the dining room.
I tugged Katie to her feet. “There now . . . tell Nanny and me what the matter is.”
“Oh, I’m just . . . just . . . Well, he’s coming later to call—that’s what!”
“Who’s coming?” Nanny and I said together.
Katie drew in a deep breath and let it out. “Jamie Reilly,” she whispered. “Oh, but if you don’t want him here, miss, I’ll tell him—”
After everything I’d witnessed earlier in the day, this simple return to normalcy brought a grin to my face. “Why, Katie, that’s lovely. When is he coming? You’ll need to be ready, won’t you? Come, let’s finish cleaning up our unfortunate dessert. Then we’ll go pick out a proper frock for you and dress your hair.”
Some forty minutes later a very different Katie than the one I’d come to know stood before me. We’d chosen a gown with three-quarter sleeves, a simple scooped neckline, and a pin-tucked bodice. The pastel blue muslin brightened the clear blue of her eyes; her pink cheeks stood out prettily against her translucent skin. Always quick with her needle, Nanny tacked on a bit of pale yellow chiffon at the ends of the sleeves and used another length to make a sash. We had pinned Katie’s russet curls, usually subdued in a tight bun, into a loose twist at the back of her head that allowed spiraling tendrils to cascade between her shoulder blades.
I stood back to admire her and judged our efforts enchanting. Her fidgeting made me frown. “Stop plucking at the chiffon or you’ll tear it loose.”
“Oh, miss, thank you ever so much. But . . . I don’t think I’m ready for this.”
“Nonsense. Of course you are. You and Jamie are friends after all.”
“Y-yes . . . I suppose.”
“Then think of this as merely associating with someone whose company you already enjoy.” When that failed to lighten her mood, I smoothed my hands across her shoulders. “And if anything more comes of it . . . well . . . we’ll just have to see, won’t we?”
Excitement spun in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t help hoping, wanting, for Katie what I might never have myself. She’d been through so much in her young life, she deserved some measure of happiness. And she already possessed something I didn’t—a much more ingenuous outlook on life. My perceptions had become infinitely more complicated because of the independence Aunt Sadie had allowed—no, insisted—I taste. And once tasted, self-sufficiency is not something easily relinquished.
How perfect, I thought. Katie Dillon and Jamie Reilly. Hailing from the same country, they were sure to have lots in common. Surely they were social equals, as Brady would put it, and held similar expectations about life. And Jamie’s cheerful nature was just the thing to continue drawing Katie out, to help her find her confidence. Yes, this was something I would encourage.
At the clank of the front door knocker, I practically had to pry her fingers from the footboard of her bed and physically carry her down the stairs. Even as she trod each step, I continually whispered encouragements from the top of the stairs.
“Good evening, Miss Dillon,” Jamie said when she worked up the courage to open the door, abruptly cutting off his knocking. Had he begun to think no one was home? I watched from the top landing, hidden by shadow; eavesdropping, perhaps, but with such a buoyant heart I could hardly be blamed. It was about time we had some happy news for a change.
Like Katie, Jamie had taken pains with his appearance. He wore crisp white linen beneath a plain serge coat and a blue waistcoat with shiny brass buttons. How fortuitous, I noted, that they’d both worn blue. Did that signify as a positive sign?
My hopes flourished yet more when Jamie whisked a bouquet out from behind his back, and with his free hand raised one of hers and kissed the back of her knuckles. “You’re a vision tonight, Katie Dillon, and I’m a lucky fellow to be standing where I am, that’s to be sure.”
“Oh . . . I . . .” Katie took the flowers—from where I stood they looked like some kind of wild daisies—and buried her face in the blossoms. “Thank you.”