Born Wicked

“Cate?” Paul laughs until he sees Finn’s smile, and then his jaw sets. “I ought to fall off more ladders myself, if it means having such a pretty nurse.”

“Stop,” I protest.

“Seriously, Cate, I could help John finish the gazebo. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to come by. I might even be able to make a few improvements to the design while I’m at it,” Paul muses, grinning.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll be right as rain in a few days,” Finn says.

“What?” I exclaim. “No. No more ladders for you. I won’t have you breaking your head next time.”

Paul chuckles. “Bossy as ever, aren’t you?”

Lord, I’ve just ordered Finn about the way I would my sisters. I grimace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so forward, I—”

“I don’t mind it,” Finn interrupts. His hand, on the arm of his chair, is very close to mine, on the arm of my chair. If I stretched out my fingertips, we’d be touching. It is suddenly, unaccountably difficult to resist. My entire body is tilted toward him. Is it very obvious, how enticing I find him? I fold my hands together in my lap.

Paul is watching us, a strange look on his face. “I don’t suppose you do. I like a woman with spirit myself.”

“With spirit?” I glare. “You make me sound like a horse.” Like something to be tamed and broken.

“Hardly.” He grins, grabs a wooden trowel from the hook on the wall, and takes up a fencing position.“En garde.”

I look to Finn, mortified. Paul and I used to spar in the garden with sticks—and through the kitchen with cutlery—but that was when I was twelve. I shake my head. “Paul, no.”

Paul flourishes his would-be rapier at me. “Come now, I might actually stand a chance at besting you this time. I’ve been practicing at Jones’s club.”

Finn chuckles. “My money’s on Cate.”

“A gentleman’s wager?” Paul suggests, dropping a coin from his pocket on the table.

Neither of them have the money to waste on something so silly. “No, no betting. There’s only pride at stake,” I announce, seizing a long-handled spoon from the table and advancing on Paul threateningly.

“Cate!” Mrs. O’Hare wails. “I was using that. Put it down, you’ll get soup every—”

“Excellent!” I land a hit on Paul’s shoulder. The spoon leaves a squash-colored smudge on his gray overcoat.

“I’ll get you for that!” Paul waves the trowel at me. “This is a new jacket!”

We duck and dodge around the kitchen table, the icebox, and the stove. Mrs. O’Hare’s alternately chortling and urging me to behave like a proper young lady. I’m laughing, my hair tumbling out of its pins and down my back.

“Get him, Cate!” Finn yells.

I look at him over my shoulder, and he smiles. I catch my breath.

Paul sneaks up behind me, trapping me against his broad chest. He spins me around and taps the crown of my head with the wooden trowel. “Got you,” he says softly.

It’s under the guise of play, but it feels more than that. Staking his claim.

“Miss Cate?” The hall door flies open. One look at Lily’s face and I know something is wrong.

I disentangle myself from Paul. “What is it?”

“The Brothers are here.”

I freeze, but only for a second.

Maura or Tess? What could they have done when I wasn’t watching?

Why wasn’t I watching them better?

“Thank you, Lily,” I say, and my voice doesn’t shake at all. I want very badly to look at Finn, but I don’t. If I do, I might beg him to let me borrow that pistol.

“Cate, your hair!” Mrs. O’Hare rushes over to fix it. When she’s finished, I smooth the wet grass from my hem and straighten my shoulders. I take some strength from the brave smile Mrs. O’Hare puts on, and then I follow Lily out.

Brother Ishida and Brother Ralston wait for me in the sitting room. Brother Ralston is a whiskered man with a big belly and a forehead so furrowed it looks like a spring field. He teaches literature and composition at the boys’ school; he’s a friend of Father’s.

“Good day, Miss Cate,” he says.

“Good day, sir.” I kneel before them.

Brother Ishida puts his plump, soft hand on my head. “Lord bless you and keep you this and all the days of your life.”

“Thanks be.” I stand but bite my tongue. I don’t dare ask why they are here. It would be impertinent.

They make me wait a long minute.

“Have you had any correspondence with Zara Roth?” Brother Ishida asks.

I raise my head, relief flooding through me. “No, sir,” I lie. “I wasn’t even aware I had a godmother until Mrs. Ishida told me about her. Isn’t she in Harwood Asylum? I didn’t think the patients there were permitted to write letters.”

“That is true, but there have been unscrupulous nurses willing to post a letter in the past. You haven’t had any contact with her whatsoever?” I make my gray eyes go wide with puzzlement. “No, sir. Never.”

“If you hear from her—if she attempts to contact you in any way—you must let us know immediately,” Brother Ralston urges. I clasp my hands before me and lower my eyes to their boots. “Of course, sir. I’d tell you straightaway.”

“She was a wicked woman, Miss Cahill. A witch masquerading as a devout member of our Sisterhood. She was treasonous to our government and to our Lord. I do not know why your mother, Lord rest her soul, would have appointed such a person to be your godmother.” Brother Ishida’s dark eyes focus on me, as though I am somehow tainted by association.

I glance up at the family portrait—Mother, serene and beautiful—and shake my head sadly. “I don’t know either, sir. Mother never mentioned her.”

“We hope it was only a matter of womanly frailty on her part,” Brother Ralston said. “You must be wary of the devil’s tempting whispers masquerading as the voice of friends, Miss Cate. Trusting the wrong sort of people can lead down dark paths.”

“We hope you will not follow in your godmother’s footsteps,” Brother Ishida says. “We noted that you visited Belastras’ bookshop yesterday.”

I start. They were following me? Why would they follow me? But Brother Ralston makes a calming gesture, as though I’m some skittish filly. “We have been watching the comings and goings of the bookshop for some time. It does not behoove a young lady of your station to linger in such a place, Miss Cate. The company a girl keeps is vital to her reputation.”

“I was only there on an errand for Father,” I lie.

“You didn’t leave with any parcels,” Brother Ishida says.

“I thought your father was in New London,” Brother Ralston adds.

Lord, theyaremonitoring things. I think quickly. “I was delivering a message. Finn Belastra is our new gardener. Only I got to talking and . . .” I hope they won’t ask why John couldn’t deliver the message. Or whether Finn and I were alone together in the shop.

Brother Ralston smiles fondly, only too willing to believe in my womanly frailty. If it weren’t to my advantage, I’d slap the smile from his face. “Ah, that makes more sense. Your father’s said you aren’t the clever sort.”