“I don’t know. I may be wrong. Perhaps he is merely an orphan with no direct relatives.”
“You feel something is wrong.” Catherine tensed herself. She knew better than to mistrust Lydia’s sense of the not-quite-right.
Lydia did not reply. She removed her hat, examined its slightly shabby feather. “There was an incident and there is an inquiry. There are those who say absolutely that it will do no harm to Captain Avebury’s career; he has the respect of his admiral and of commanders who were once lieutenants under his supervision. He is so well-liked that it is difficult to find any who would speak against him.”
“What kind of incident?”
“A missed communication. It is difficult to discern the situation, because much of the matter is confidential.” Lydia replaced her hat. She looked at Catherine, then smiled. “You must be in love.”
“I? In love?” Catherine laughed. “You know me better, Lydia.”
Lydia shrugged. “Perhaps.” She grew serious again. “Captain Avebury was late for a rendezvous at sea, and as a result, certain messages were not delivered. This led to the deaths of several of our spies in France. Highly placed spies, upon whom we relied for information.”
“And how is Captain Avebury responsible for this missed communication?”
“This is the problem. He accepted the responsibility without comment. His lieutenant, however, accused him of wilfully remaining in port in order to accept a cargo of opium.”
“Opium?”
“Not for his personal use. His lieutenant claims that Captain Avebury supplies opium to officers throughout the navy.”
“Oh, that’s absurd!” Catherine began to laugh.
“Captain Avebury is very rich. Wealthier than you realise.”
Catherine’s laughter faded. “You don’t mean—”
“That is exactly what I mean.”
“That is truly absurd.”
Lydia raised her hands, shrugged. “I only tell you what I hear.”
“What of the lieutenant?”
“Awaiting court martial. He had no sooner accused the captain when he mysteriously became involved in a brawl aboard ship. He killed a man.”
“No!”
“He claims that the captain organised it to get rid of him – he will almost certainly be executed for his role in the brawl.” Lydia paused. “Captain Avebury has no other enemies that I have been able to discover. He has something of a following and is so admired that even the lowliest crewmen have aught to say against him. But, unfortunately, his lieutenant hit a nerve when he accused Captain Avebury of remaining in port in order to enrich himself. Captain Avebury is well known to be a wealthy man. People whisper when money is tainted.”
“And, thus, an investigation.”
Lydia nodded. “Nothing may come of it. But the lieutenant has sworn to prove his case against the captain.”
A knock sounded. Catherine motioned to Lydia, who went to open the door.
“Captain Avebury,” the butler intoned, stepping back into the hall.
“Good afternoon,” Avebury said. He looked around the room, until his eyes found Catherine. She sat nervously, clutching the neck of her bodice.
“Was this a bad hour to call?”
“Not at all,” Lydia replied immediately, holding out her hand. “I am pleased to meet you. I am Miss Barrow. Forgive me, I have just been out, and need to change my dress. Excuse me, Lady Catherine.” With a small smile, she left the room, shutting the door firmly behind her.
“You appear to be unwell,” Avebury said to Catherine. “Should I return at another time?”
“Certainly not,” Catherine said, trying to sound cheerful. “I have such a terrible time trying to convince you to visit at all that I am not going to chase you away now. Do have a seat.”
“Thank you very much.” Avebury sat down in a stiff-backed chair. He surveyed his surroundings once again. “A very nice room. Very nice indeed.”
“Stop it,” Catherine said crossly. “This is not a museum. This is my home. Do you hate it? If so, please take the opportunity to say so. Do not hold back.”
“Something is wrong,” Avebury said, rising once more. “I have intruded upon something. Something between you and Miss Barrow, perhaps? She is younger and more pleasant than I expected from your stories. I had imagined her with a wart on her nose, blackened teeth—”
“You odious man!” Catherine said, laughing. “Stop it at once! She may be outside, listening.”
“Ah, that sort, is she? Then I direct this comment to you, Miss Barrow! The sort of despicable person who would listen in on other people’s conversations—” He leapt forward, wrenched open the door. A startled maid nearly dropped a tray of tea and cakes.
“Lord, sir!” she squeaked.
“I am so sorry,” Avebury said, taking the tray. “You should lie down for half an hour. Get over the fright, you know.” He shut the door in her face.
Catherine clapped a hand over her mouth.
“It’s too late,” Avebury said. He brought the tray over and set it down. “Poor girl. She’s heard you laughing at her, and now she’s completely undone. She’ll need a draught from the apothecary before the night is through.”
“You are a positively dreadful man!” Catherine hiccoughed. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. “Let me pour the tea.”
“On no account,” Avebury said. He reached for a cup. “Sailors are quite good at this sort of thing.” He looked up at her. “I will leave, if this is not a good time.”
Catherine shook her head. “Please do not. No one makes me laugh the way you do, Captain Avebury.”
“Then something is wrong after all.”
“No, no. Nothing at all. I am tired and cross and exasperated. Nothing more than that. I am pleased you are here. What made you finally come to see me?”
Captain Avebury was stirring her tea. She reached over to poke his elbow gently. “You didn’t ask about sugar.”
“And that is because I put in two spoonsful. That is how many you ought to have.”
“Impertinent.” Catherine sniffed, but accepted the cup. “You didn’t answer.”
“You didn’t let me. You were talking about sugar.”
“Well, then? Why are you here?”
“I was invited. By the lady of the house. So I came. I am rather proud of my manners. You needn’t think that a naval officer is as rough as a common sailor. We do know how to behave, you know.”
Catherine smiled at him over the rim of her cup. “I do know. Never think I do not.”
“Thank you.” Avebury bowed slightly. He nodded toward a shelf of small porcelain jars. “Are any of these treasures things that I should know about?”
Catherine followed his glance. “Some of them. Do you like art?”
“Not in the least.”
“There is a splendid vase in that corner....”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Books?”
“Occasionally. But only to read. Not to admire.”
Catherine pretended to heave a sigh of disapproval. “You are really a hopeless case, Captain Avebury. Is there nothing you admire?”
It must have been coincidental, the way that his eyes turned to her and lingered. For a moment, she imagined that the gentle humour in the stormy blue eyes said something – something that language could not possibly convey. Something, she realised with a knot in her stomach, she desperately wanted to hear from him.
A hot flush rose to her cheeks and she turned away. “Shame on you, Captain Avebury,” she said, her voice shaking. “Do not mock me, please.” To her embarrassment, she felt her eyes fill.
“Lady Catherine, I know something is wrong.” Avebury put down his cup.
“Nothing is wrong,” Catherine said, sniffling. “I am just very tired.”
“Then I will leave at once.” But, as Avebury spoke, a loud knock sounded. Lydia burst into the room.
“I beg your pardon,” she said and turned to Catherine. “Lady Catherine, you
are wanted at Albrook at once.”
Catherine rose. “My father?”
“Yes. I will pack for you. Shall I come with you?”
“No – no, thank you, Lydia. Clara will do. Tell her to expect a stay of a fortnight. And to bring her black dress.”
Lydia nodded and withdrew.
Avebury cleared his throat. “I will excuse myself to allow you to get ready for your journey.”
Catherine took a deep breath. She sat back down in her chair. “Captain Avebury. Please. Wait.”
Avebury bowed. “I am at your service, as I hope you know.”
Catherine tried to smile, but the corners of her mouth felt stiff. “Will you sit next to me?” She patted the chair next to her. “I have something I wish to say to you.”
Avebury looked at her for a long moment. She felt his gaze scrutinise her face, gauging her mood, trying to ferret out her purpose. Oh, he knew her so well, he did. All because of those ridiculous long walks when she behaved in ways outrageously at odds with the decorum she tried to maintain in public. Was that person the real Catherine Claverton, or was she merely an actress who enjoyed playing the role of a female with two good legs? Could Avebury possibly understand the reasoning of the woman who owned Wansdyke and meant to bear the next Earl St Clair?
“Please,” she said again, patting the chair. Avebury came forward but, instead of sitting in the chair, remained standing.
“I promise I will visit again, if that concern is what keeps you. Don’t waste another moment with me, Lady Catherine—”
“Let me speak, please, Captain Avebury,” Catherine interrupted. “I’ve got so little time before they come to fetch me. You would oblige me very much by sitting down. I have no wish to raise my voice.”
Avebury sat.
Catherine turned her head away. She needed to focus on something – anything – to keep her purpose in mind. If she looked at him, she would think of the summer breeze and the ubiquitous farm animals, and then she would be unable to concentrate on saying what was in her mind. She finally settled her gaze on a crystal fruit bowl she could see on a table beyond Avebury’s left shoulder.
“I do not have the time, unfortunately, to say as much as I would like.” Her voice sounded amazingly smooth to her ears, calm and cool. “But there will be a lot of time later – if need be. Right now, I need to ask you a favour. As a friend.”
“Of course, Lady Catherine. Anything at all,” Avebury replied. His voice was equally cool.
“Do you know about my father, Captain Avebury?”
Avebury’s gaze did not falter. “A little. He is ill, and not expected to live, I collect.”
“I have told you that he sent me away when I was a child.”
Avebury’s expression did not change. “Yes.”
Catherine weighed her words carefully. “Will you understand if I say that it is very important to me that I marry before my father dies? He may regain consciousness. And if he does, I would like him to see me a married woman. Not the crippled girl he wanted to throw away.”
Avebury sat, impassive.
Please do not despise me, she thought.
An eternity ticked by. She took her eyes away from the fruit bowl and looked at him. His expression was grim. Her heart sank.
“Why do you feel a need to tell me this, Lady Catherine? I could not possibly find fault with your logic.”
Catherine was taken aback. Did this mean that he did understand?
“Well,” she said. “Well, I—”
“You do not have to defend your actions to me. What you and Barrington decide to do is none of my—”
“I beg your pardon!” Catherine exclaimed. “What has Sir Lyle got to do with any of this?”
For an unguarded moment, she saw the bewilderment in his eyes. Then he shifted in his chair and looked away, breaking the connection.
“I saw him outside. Barrington, I mean.”
“This is not about Sir Lyle.” Catherine’s voice shook. An image flashed before her – the lace fichu, floating to the ground. Mud ground into its dainty trim. “This has nothing to do with him. Nothing at all. This is about me. And you.”
At this, Avebury’s head shot up. He blinked. A wary look replaced his prior confusion.
“Would you … would you consider marrying me, Captain Avebury?”
Chapter 17
He had seen it in her eyes. He knew he had. That nervous flicker. She was either hiding something, or she was so complicated, had so many hidden levels, that there really was no core to her – merely onion-skin layer after onion-skin layer.
He had seen it at the mention of Barrington. How the devil was he involved? Avebury could not imagine that Barrington had hatched this scheme with Lady Catherine in order to save him and send him back to sea. It was ridiculous – and Barrington, for all his sneaky demeanour, appeared to be a gentleman, indeed, was a gentleman if he had heard her correctly. It would be grossly improper for him to counsel her on marriage—
Unless, of course, she loved Barrington but, for some reason, could not marry him. But what might such a reason be?
Not my concern, he thought. I am not in competition for Lady Catherine’s hand. If he wishes to marry her, he ought to do so. He will have my blessing.
Do not fool yourself, hissed his inner mind. You would not spend so many hours with a woman you did not admire.
All right, he argued back. Very well, I do admire her. But one can admire from a distance. Love can be chaste.
Love?
Catherine cleared her throat. Startled, he looked at her. He had forgotten she was there.
“I am deeply embarrassed,” she said in a low voice. But her eyes held firm. “Forgive me for being so indelicate. But there is no time.”
“Lady Catherine, I must say that I do not understand. This is so sudden.” Avebury found his voice. “Will your father’s people not find it odd? And, forgive me, I am just an officer of His Majesty’s Navy. My sort do not typically marry the daughter of an earl.”
“Or one who holds an earldom in her own right?” Catherine leant forward, her entire body tense. “I want to continue the St Clair line, Captain Avebury. Which I cannot do unless I marry. I want very much to keep my mother’s legacy alive.”
“You mean to say that not marrying would mean the extinction of the line? Of your mother’s family?”
“Yes.” Catherine lowered her gaze. “My father has hated me my entire life for causing the extinction of the Delamare earldom. He holds me directly responsible, even though I could not help being born a female. You can understand that I do not wish to be responsible for the end of another family.”
“Those words are too strong, my lady.”
“Ah, but they are true. They sting, but they are true.” Catherine paused. “Captain Avebury, the future means a great deal to me.” Then, colouring a little, she said, “I want very much to have a child. A child who would be the next earl. Then I could be content. You need not think that I would keep you in England – I would be your most ardent supporter, should you wish to continue in your naval career. I could even help you, perhaps – there are people that I could call on, people with whom I could—”
“You have heard, then? About my trouble.” He interrupted her. “You know what happened in Gibraltar.”
Catherine raised her gaze to his, her blue eyes wide and unintimidated. “Yes.”
“You know I am in disgrace.”
“I would dispute that, Captain Avebury. You are so well-liked, it is hard to find anyone who would say so.”
Jocelyn gave a short, harsh laugh. “The Navy has been my whole life, Lady Catherine. It owns me. It is hard to contemplate sharing my soul with anyone else. Did you discover that in your investigations of me?”
“I beg your pardon, I have no wish to offend. You are my friend, a very dear friend. And you would never say aught about yourself. I would not have gone behind your back had you yourself told me the facts of the matter.” Catherine was beginning to so
und angry. “I trust you, Captain Avebury. I have no reason to believe anything is other than you tell me.”
For a moment, Jocelyn stared at her. Then he turned away. He rose, went to pour another cup of tea. He stirred it distractedly, neglecting to add sugar. He put down the spoon but made no move to pick up the cup.
Was this to be merely a civil arrangement? If it were, she would break his heart. He did not know if he could bear to take her in his arms knowing she was indifferent. Yet, were he to refuse, another man would enter the picture. There would be another man to father her son. And she could offer him a great deal. Sir Lyle had told him so, and Jocelyn knew it was true.
“You know nothing about me, Lady Catherine. I might be a rogue, a dishonest knave. Perhaps your life itself would be in grave danger were you to marry me. Would you give your son a father such as I?”
Catherine rose. She leant heavily on the arm of her chair. “Captain Avebury, you are my friend. Everyone else has no use for me and, therefore, no desire to know me. A man such as you could not possibly be dishonest or evil.” Her voice shook a little. “I would trust you with my life, Captain Avebury.”
“Lovely words, Lady Catherine. Lovely words indeed. But what if your trust is misplaced?”
Catherine lifted her chin. “Then I will suffer the consequences.”
Jocelyn shook his head. “You have an impressive degree of courage. Far more than I possess, I fear.”
“Please, Captain Avebury. Do not insult me. Please.” Catherine began to make her way over to where Jocelyn stood beside the tea tray but stumbled and fell heavily against a small table. Taking a monumental leap, Jocelyn managed to prevent it, and the vase that graced it, from toppling. He offered his hand to Catherine, who had grabbed hold of a chair. She looked at it, then up at Jocelyn.
“Will you not join me on my journey through life?” she asked simply. “I am alone. As are you. Perhaps together we may find something of the life that others talk about, the life girls such as I only dream of. We are friends. There is trust, liking, between us.” She took his hand, held it tightly in her own.
Jocelyn felt the moist warmth of her palm against his. He looked at their hands, hers small and slender in his large, work-scarred grasp. She had no idea, he realised, of how beautiful she was, of how much a small gesture such as this could make a man’s head swim. He looked at her face, so desperately trusting and hopeful. She was a fool to trust the likes of him. There were secrets that she did not know – that no one knew – would she still trust him if she knew he was not who he claimed to be? That the name she sought to take as her own was not even his? And a child? He did not feel ready to think about bringing an innocent babe into the world under a false name.
The Portrait Page 10