Follow the Heart Read Online Free Page B

something that happened almost nineteen years ago, she was obviously the older sibling. And if Christopher had been six years old in 1832, that meant he was now around five-and-twenty. Meaning Katharine must be in her late twenties, if not already Andrew’s age of thirty.
    That was what the woman he’d met at the station meant by “at her age.” Andrew was not certain how things were done in America, but here in England, Miss Dearing would be considered well past the prime marriageable age. And if the rumors that woman heard in Philadelphia were true, without a substantial dowry, Katharine had no chance of marrying well.
    For the first time in his life, Andrew felt true pity for another person. The last thing he’d promised his mother before she died of lung rot was that he would not end up like her—condemned to live out her days in the poorhouse. He’d worked hard to get where he was today, and he would do whatever it took to continue bettering himself and his condition.
    He thanked God he had not been born a woman.

C HAPTER T WO
    Wakesdown Manor
Outside Oxford, England
February 9, 1851
    W hy had God made her be born a woman?
    Honora Woodriff crumpled her brother’s letter. Off in California, making a fortune selling supplies and dry goods to gold seekers. If only she’d been born a brother instead of a sister, he’d told her when she saw him off in London a year ago, he would have been happy to take her with him as his business partner.
    Instead, she would have a life of solitude, caring for and teaching others’ children.
    She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Almost nine o’clock. Time for Florie’s medicine. Tucking a stray wisp of hair back into the braids pinned low at her nape, Nora picked up the bottle the physician had left behind earlier this afternoon. At the door she stopped, returned to her desk and picked up the book from the top of the pile there, and then started across the house to her charge’s bedroom.
    Though Florie had been moved from the nursery to the family wing of the manor house a few years ago, she would still be Nora’s charge until her fifteenth birthday in August, when she would leave for school, relieving Nora of her responsibility—and her employment.
    She paused, reaching out to steady herself against the wall. It was a miracle she had been hired as governess to Sir Anthony Buchanan’s two youngest children five years ago. Only twenty-one at the time and having taught for a scant eighteen months at Mrs. Timperleigh’s Seminary for Deserving Young Women in Oxford, she had applied for the position at Mrs. Timperleigh’s urging, who knew how overwhelmed Nora could get being surrounded day in and day out by the gaggle of girls at the school.
    Despite Nora’s certainty her letter would not garner a full reading, Sir Anthony had interviewed and then hired her. Now, here she was, five years later, preparing to send her last charge off to be finished at one of the finest schools in London.
    And still, after five years, the rumor that she intended to become the next Lady Buchanan followed her whenever she went into town on her day off each week. After all, the gossipmongers whispered, why would Sir Anthony have hired so young a woman with no experience as a governess, unless an ulterior motive were at the root of the decision?
    She straightened, squared her shoulders, and continued toward Florie’s room. In a few months, the rumor would no longer matter.
    Miss Florence Buchanan sat up in her bed, supported and surrounded by pillows. Her black hair hung in two limp braids, and bright red patches on her cheeks emphasized her pallor.
    “I see the maids have got you set up and comfortable as a queen.” Nora forced cheerfulness into her voice. “I brought your medicine. And I thought I’d check to see if you finished the book I brought earlier and wanted something else to read.”
    Florie waved a limp hand toward the book under the lamp on her bedside table. “I finished it