Haverholme Priory, Lincolnshire, 8 July 1848
“I hope this goes well,” Lord Beaufort murmured to no one in particular as he glanced out a rain-streaked coach window.
Kate, sitting across from her father, perceived the concern in his voice and closed her book. She raised an eyebrow and stared at her father’s face, inviting conversation. What is it?
“Did you enjoy our visit with the Heathcotes?” he asked softly, obviously in a desire not to wake Jane and the maids, who were dozing.
“Very much,” Kate whispered. “I like the old baronet. Were we there for me to meet his grandson?”
“Not particularly, although he seems a decent lad.”
“I thought so. He’s attending Trinity College. I remember visiting Grimsthorpe before, a long…