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you would take your sister to wait in the station house, I will find Sir Anthony’s driver and we will see to the luggage.” Andrew pressed the round bowler hat onto his head, nodded at Christopher, and touched the brim of his hat to Kate before opening the compartment door and disappearing into the night.
    Kate stared through the window at the dark platform beyond. “I’m sorry I left you to the entertainment of a stranger.” She stifled a yawn behind her mittened hand. “I don’t know why I should be so exhausted.”
    Christopher reached across the narrow compartment and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Most likely due to the fact you have not been sleeping but a few hours each night for the past month.”
    Kate looked startled and then ashamed at Christopher’s words. He gave her a quick hug. “Never you mind. If anyone has a right to lose sleep over this situation, it’s you.”
    She pushed him away. “Don’t coddle me, Christopher. I’m not a child. And please, do remember to call me Katharine. Wealthy men do not marry Kates. They marry Katharines.”
    Taken somewhat aback by his sister’s sharp tone, as well as her reasoning, Christopher let his hands drop to his sides. Assuming she was grumpy because she was so tired, he said no more, but instead turned to pull down their two valises, Andrew having taken his with him.
    Christopher opened the compartment door and, taking the handles of both bags with one hand, assisted Kate out onto the platform. Bitterly cold wind whipped around them, and Kate huddled close to him, pulling her shawl up to cover her mouth and nose. He wrapped his arm around her and hurried her over toward the light beaming through the window of the station house.
    Though they could not get close to the coal heater inside, the congregation of travelers kept the room warm. Just when Christopher was thinking about getting impatient enough to go look for Andrew and the driver, the door opened and Andrew entered, coat collar held up to protect the bottom half of his face and ears.
    “Mr. Dearing, Miss Dearing, the luggage is loaded and the coachman is eager to take us home to Wakesdown.” Andrew held the door for them and then led them to the carriage. Christopher was glad for his sake—and for Kate’s—that it was a closed coach, and hot bricks had been wrapped in the lap blankets to give them added warmth on the ride to their uncle’s country house.
    With Kate leaning on his shoulder, and a long day of travel behind them, Christopher found himself fighting a stupor on the half-hour drive from Oxford to Wakesdown.
    When the carriage finally pulled to a stop and Christopher climbed out, an obscuring darkness surrounded them, blinding him to anything but the light coming through the open front door of the house. He turned to assist Kate down from the coach and then gave her the support of his arm to the front door.
    “Katharine, Christopher, welcome to Wakesdown.” The man who greeted them had close-cropped, curly hair of a silvery gray hue.
    “Sir Anthony, thank you so much for your kind invitation to let us visit with you.” Kate dipped into a courtesy without releasing Christopher’s arm.
    Christopher had to admit that what Kate lacked in expertise at flirting and small talk, she more than made up for with her ability at formal greetings. He removed his hat and bowed. “Yes, thank you, Sir Anthony.”
    The man guffawed and raised his hand in protest. “Come, come. We’re not so formal when it is just family. Do call me uncle.” He stepped back and motioned for them to enter the house.
    Kate released Christopher’s arm, lifted her skirts, and stepped over the threshold, Christopher following directly behind. He blinked against the bright, glittering lights of the dozens of candles in the chandelier overhead and the sconces that lined the walls of the wide entry hallway. He turned to accuse Andrew of vast understatement in describing the house, but the landscape architect