1868

Katherine poked her head through the space beneath the porch, her dark curls falling from their pins and brushing the dirt. She had never seen anything like the small creature that had darted past her and under the manor house, and she wasn’t one to leave a stone left unturned.

Bridget would have screamed if she had seen the small girl lower herself to the ground, her stomach pressed to the dirt as she stared into the darkness. “That dress is brand new silk! All the way from Paris!” she would complain. “Young ladies are not meant to be dirty.” 

As if Katherine would mind. There was no danger of getting into real trouble. Her father would only chuckle and tell the nursemaid to calm herself. They could buy Katherine new dresses. What they could not buy her was a second childhood. “Allow her to play as she pleases,” Benedict would say in his fading English accent, beaming at his daughter. “She will only be this young once. If we didn’t want our silks to be dirtied, we would not dress our children in them.”

“Don’t worry,” Katherine murmured to the creature in careful Italian. Its eyes glowed as it stared at her from beneath the porch. “I will not hurt you. Promise.” She stretched out a hand. “And Papa says Lockharts don’t break promises.”

The creature stirred and began to inch forward. Katherine gave it a soft smile, beckoning it encouragingly toward her. She had never seen anything like it. Small, with a long spindling tail, a pink button nose, bulging green eyes, and matted fur that must have been several shades of orange but looked closer to brown now. Its ears were triangular, one of them torn at the edge. She figured the tear must have hurt. It looked fresh, still crusted with dried blood.

The creature gave a soft purr as it slunk into Katherine’s hand, and she swept it up, holding it close to her chest. It was filthy, covered from the top of its head to the pads of its paws in matted dirt, and its body was tense, even as Katherine held it with care. 

She straightened—her movements as slow as she could manage—and made her way inside.

Lockhart Manor was a large house in the Roman countryside, the inside decorated with deep greens, reds, blues, and yellows amongst mahogany furniture. Sunlight seeped in through an abundance of windows to balance out the dark shades of color. Katherine always hated it when the curtains were shut.

She pushed the front door shut behind her, and it clicked. She held the creature closer. She would hide it in her bedroom. If it stayed under the bed, Bridget and the maids would never find out.

“Where on earth did you find that?” Katherine whirled around at the sound of Bridget’s voice, her face hot. The nursemaid was standing at the foot of the twisted steps to the second floor, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She held out her hands and rushed forward. “That thing does not belong in the house. Give it to me.”

“No!” Katherine darted past Bridget, dashing up the steps and around the corner of the dimly lit hallway. Bridget’s footsteps followed close behind her, accompanied by scolding shouts.

She barreled into her father’s study and nearly took a tumble on the red rug between his desk and the room’s largest bookshelf. He rose as Bridget stumbled in after her, still reaching out for the creature.

“Master Lockhart,” she said breathlessly as if only just realizing Benedict was there. “My apologies. I tried to stop her, but she’s really quite quick… She must have found that thing outside. I’ll take it back—”

Benedict held up a hand as he moved around his desk toward his daughter. His dark, curly hair was in disarray as it always was when he’d been running his hands through it, and his eyebrows were tightly furrowed as he lowered himself to his knees on the rug. He wore only his shirtsleeves and simple black trousers. There weren’t even shoes on his feet.

“It’s only a kitten, Bridget,” he said. His voice was deep but soft. “Katherine, darling, where did you get the kitten?”

“Outside.” Katherine tightened her grip on the kitten, though it seemed to be slowly relaxing in her arms. She pointed a tiny finger at the tear in its ear. “Papa, he’s hurt.”

Bridget made a noise from off to the side. “All due respect, Master Lockhart, but we really can’t keep it. Not if you’re serious about moving the household to Edinburgh—”

Benedict was shaking his head. “Bridget, you know I appreciate your concern but please. Leave us.” 

Bridget scoffed but elected not to protest, only muttering something about propriety as she exited the room.

Benedict lifted the kitten from Katherine’s arms and held it in the palms of his hands, examining it carefully. The kitten sat still, but its body was rigid. “She, I think,” he finally said. “I had a cat when I was a boy… Quite a beautiful creature he was.” 

With a soft grin on his lips, he looked back up at Katherine. It was the first time she had seen him smile since her mother had died several months earlier. That was when he’d started talking about moving to Scotland for a fresh start. His wife’s family was in Italy, but his was in England. With Maria gone, he should be closer to his roots, he had said. “You want to keep her, my diamond?”

Katherine smiled too. Her stomach began to dance. “Can I, Papa?”

“Of course.” He got to his feet and gestured for her to follow him out of the study, the kitten still in his grasp. “Now, what do you say we bathe her and give her a name?”

Katherine didn’t miss a beat. “Bella.”

Benedict chuckled. “Bella?”

“Because she’s beautiful, Papa.” Katherine paused. “Even if she’s really dirty.”

“Well then—” Benedict’s smile widened— “Bella it is.”