Free Follow the Heart by Kaye Dacus Page B

realization. “You have younger siblings from your father’s second marriage, do you not?”
    Christopher nodded. “Three sisters.”
    Sir Anthony grimaced. “All the more burden for you and Katharine, then. Boys do not create as much expense to raise as girls, I believe. My wife died when Florence was but a babe in arms. My two eldest, my sons, seemed to cost very little—a new suit of clothes here or there. Schooling, naturally. But my daughters . . .” He shook his head with a grimace. “Always wanting new gowns, shoes, hats, the latest fripperies and fobs. If a seamstress tells them something is fashionable, they must have it. I am certain your father, with four daughters, must feel the same pinch, especially now.”
    Christopher wondered how much his uncle was able to sympathize with the Dearings’ situation. With a baronetcy and a family legacy of wealth, land, influence, and power going back generations, the Buchanans had never wanted for anything. The Dearings’ money hadn’t come into the family until late in Christopher’s grandfather’s life. Before the coming of the railroad, the Dearings had been nothing more than farmers and lumber and fur merchants, trying to carve out a life in the wilds of Pennsylvania.
    Christopher glanced at Andrew, who stood as far away as the small room would allow, hands clasped behind his back, looking as if he’d blend into the bookcases behind him if he could.
    Christopher rose and started rolling up the maps, and he and Andrew made their farewells.
    “Ah, Christopher, one more thing,” Sir Anthony said as Christopher was about to exit.
    He turned to face his uncle.
    “Do not forget that the ball in your and your sister’s honor is in a week. Please make use of my tailor in town. Morency can arrange for a carriage to take you this afternoon.” Sir Anthony nodded in a way that brooked no opposition.
    Christopher exchanged a glance with Andrew. As if the other man understood what Christopher must say, he took the maps and excused himself, disappearing down the dim hallway.
    Christopher stepped back into the study. “Sir Anthony, while I appreciate your kindness in allowing my use of the carriage, I must decline the offer. I cannot . . . I have not the money for a new suit of clothes for the ball.”
    Sir Anthony’s expression changed from curious to sympathetic. “I should have made myself clearer. It is my understanding from my valet, who has spoken with the man serving you, that you have no suit of clothes appropriately formal for such an event. Therefore, you will go to my tailor to be fit for the new suit I have already ordered and purchased for you. It has only to be altered for your specific measurements before it will be ready to wear.”
    Christopher opened his mouth to protest, but Sir Anthony held up his hand with a sigh. “I understand your American pragmatism and unwillingness to accept charity from others, especially we English. However, by agreeing to have you in my home and to take you publicly by the hand before society, I have also agreed to do what is necessary to make certain you—and your sister—look like members of my family. It will not do for Katharine, in her quest to find a wealthy husband, if either of you look anything less than aristocratic, would it?”
    “But the clothing we brought with us is almost new, and it served us just fine at the last balls we attended.”
    One side of Sir Anthony’s mouth quirked up. “Yes, well . . . in America, I am certain you were the height of fashion. But you are no longer in America. You are in England. Styles and sensibilities are different here.”
    Christopher’s shoulders sagged with the burden of charity.
    “Once you have established yourself in a career, you may repay me if you like. Until then, however, please allow me to care for you as for my own children. I would not have agreed to your father’s request if I had not been willing to do so.”
    Though it rankled every American nerve in