Her eyes stung with the terrible sadness of it all. How greatly he must have suffered! She almost felt that she herself was suffering now at the mere thought of it.
Underneath her confusion, the dawn of a great warmth was beginning within her. She almost felt – she did feel – happy.
Harry had loved her!
She had been loved as passionately as her secret dreams could desire!
It was then, with a terrifying sensation that was something between flying and falling from a great height, that Catherine realised she had grown to love Harry too.
It had been growing within her since the moment his lips had first touched hers. Everything about him since – his stern handsomeness, his confidence, his daring and his kindness – had only mingled with her memories of their old friendship to make her love him more.
So this was it. She was in love. She had been right in suspecting she was verging on madness. This was insanity and adventure and pleasure and terrible risk all rolled into one.
The letter had promised he would not forget her. Why, then, had he not declared himself sooner? They were as good as engaged to be married, for heaven’s sake – surely the time to tell her of his love had come and gone?
Unless – unless he no longer felt as he once had. Unless his feelings had dimmed with time and he acted now out of respect for their old friendship – for everything he once felt but suffered no longer.
Could that be possible? Could a love so powerful be quenched by the passage of time?
Catherine found herself weeping bitter tears over the pity of it all. She felt trapped by this new wisdom – this knowledge of her own heart and his. Why, why, why had he not told her sooner? Why were they both born into families constantly on the brink of ruin?
Why was she not brave enough simply to write to him and ask him whether his words were still true?
Catherine searched for her handkerchief through the veil of tears and pressed it to her eyes until the weeping stopped. She was determined not to be overcome by silly emotions.
Yes, she loved Harry. Well, that was all to the good. She would have him. He wished to marry her.
Yes, they had spent years apart during which they might instead have been happy. That was sad, but crying over it was useless. She had a future to think about.
She rose immediately from her chair and resolved to go to her father without further delay. He was much recovered. She could no longer wait in patience for him to confront her wrongdoing and make his decision.
She loved Harry and she would not be kept waiting any longer.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Wake up, Papa. I have brought your tonic. It is past time that you drank it.”
Fugitive Pieces had been replaced innocently on the bookshelf, purged now of all its secrets. There was nothing to suggest that Catherine had spent the past hour in anything other than quiet repose except the heightened colour of her cheeks and the unnatural brightness in her eyes.
Mr Sharp was not yet well enough to discern the change in his daughter’s mood. He wrestled himself upright, fighting a losing battle against his many pillows, and when finally he was comfortable he embarked upon a lengthy rant on the subject of tonics, their flavour and function, or rather lack of.
“I don’t care one jot whether you enjoy the taste, Papa,” said Catherine sternly. “You must and will drink it.”
Such vehemence was not to be quibbled with. Mr Sharp gulped the concoction down with a poor attitude and a miserable expression.
When he was done, he found Catherine still sitting expectantly on the edge of his bed.
“Papa,” she began hesitantly, “please forgive my haste – I know you are not quite well. There is something I wish to speak to you about.”
“I think I can predict its nature,” said Mr Sharp. “Does it involve a particular young man?”
“It does.” Catherine’s fingers twitched in her lap. She clutched her hands together to keep them still. “I do not wish to cause you any pain, but…”
“You will notice that I have not mentioned to you the subject of certain indiscretions which have reached my ears.”
“I had noticed. Thank you, Papa.”
“I expect you are chasing me on my response to young Westbourne’s letter.”
Catherine’s fingers began fidgeting again. She could not keep herself still. “I am sure His Grace would welcome a swift response –”
“Ha! It is not His Grace’s feelings which concern me. Tell me, Cathy, where does your heart lie?”
She looked at him in surprise. Mr Sharp made the effort to sit up straighter.
“I gave my permission to Mr Hinton and I have regretted it every moment since. I am deeply sorry that my own failings have led you into such a perilous choice. Cathy, I will not give you away lightly. The Duke has money aplenty – does he also have your heart?” He scanned her face closely. “You had plenty of opportunity to fall in love with him when he was young Harry Marsden and you were children together. It strikes me as very odd that you should claim to love him now. Has he taken advantage of you, my girl? You need not marry him to cover your shame. Indeed, if he has led you astray the shame, as far as I am concerned, is entirely his. Tell me, what is the truth of your situation?”
Catherine reached for her father’s hand. “I was at first only tempted by the prospect of escaping an engagement to Mr Hinton. The Duke did not force me, Papa. I made the choice myself.”
“Then you behaved very poorly, my dear, and I am sorry to hear it. Mr Hinton is a good man and should not have been cast off so roughly.”
“I did not think I had a choice,” said Catherine, shame reddening her cheeks.
“Then the fault is mine also,” her father sighed. “I was too taken by the prospect of an end to our troubles. Had I known you were so miserable – would I have allowed you to break off the engagement? I hope so. But I certainly gave you no indication that I would allow you to be so flighty.” His eyes narrowed. “All the same, Cathy, you might have tried.”
“Yes, Papa.” She was too ashamed to meet his gaze.
“Come now,” he said, patting her hand. “What’s done is done. God willing, we shall hear no more of Mr Hinton. Let him find happiness elsewhere. We shall turn now to this rascal of a Duke. I wish to know your true feelings towards him, Cathy. Is it only his fortune that attracts you?”
She shook her head. “I believe…” How amazing that her heart, so full of feeling, found it so difficult to choose the right words to set those feelings free? “I believe that my feelings have undergone an immense change since the beginning of my dealings with His Grace. Where first I found only friendship, now… Yes, Papa. I love him. I love him very dearly. He has been nothing but kind to me, for all that we have both made mistakes.”
“What an amazing thing,” murmured Mr Sharp. He was smiling so broadly that his plump red cheeks resembled two little crab-apples. “And have you reason to believe he also loves you?”
“I do not know for certain,” she admitted. “But…yes, I have reason to believe he may love me.” And if he does not, she vowed, he would certainly love her again. She would make sure of it. She would do every little thing necessary to rekindle the beautiful passion Harry had once felt.
Mr Sharp reached for his handkerchief, quite overcome with joy. “A Duke for my daughter!” he said, repeating the phrase over and over again in wonderment. “A Duke! My daughter, a Duchess!”
“Do not excite yourself, Papa,” said Catherine quickly. Mr Sharp shook his head.
“I will remain in bed today, my dear. I am afraid it is all too much for me. But if you allow me to rest awhile, I shall send for Robson after I have slept and have him bring me pen and paper. I mean to have everything settled by the end of the day.”
Catherine could not have dreamed a happier conclusion to their conversation. She kissed her father on the forehead and left him to his sleep, entreating him not to strain himself and assuring him that the letter could be writ
ten just as well tomorrow as today. On the inside, she was an entirely different woman. If she could have run through the garden leaping and cheering like a happy child, she would have done.
Catherine spent the next half hour wandering about the house, touching the furniture and the walls as if she had never seen them before. Everything was bathed in a brand new light for her. It was as if the sun had come up after a long winter.
She tried to trace in herself the origins of her love for Harry and found she could not. It was all tangled up in the fondness of the past and the passion of the present. She must have changed materially from friendship to love at some fixed point over the past fortnight, but she simply could not pinpoint when it had taken place.
Finally, realising that she was behaving in a most unbecomingly foolish manner, she forced herself to sit down and take up some small tasks to occupy her mind until her father’s letter was written. Her correspondence from her aunt, Mrs Riley, still awaited a response. And she had not even read over her letter from Miss Hendrington.
It was to the latter that she turned now. It seemed more methodical to read letters before beginning the task of answering them. In any case, her mind was still too lively to settle down enough to form coherent sentences.
Miss Hendrington began by wishing her health. That was commonplace enough. Catherine read with half a mind on other things. Now that she had admitted her true feelings to herself, every thought of Harry brought on a spasm of something a little like pleasure and a little like pain. It was a sensation she was not accustomed to, and it begged the majority of her attention.
As Miss Hendrington’s letter continued, however, Catherine realised that it was of far greater importance than she had first realised. In fact, she clutched it with both hands as she read, attempting to quell the mounting horror.
It could not be believed. Not now – not when everything was so perfectly in place.
In one fell stroke, Catherine felt all her newfound happiness torn brutally away. She hardly dared keep reading. But read she did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Dear Miss Sharp,
I do hope that my letter finds you well and that your father is recovered. I have never suffered the illness of a parent myself but I can imagine it must be most discomfiting.
Everything in Larksley continues as it has always done. I danced with several gentlemen the other night at Mr Goodridge’s and I think you will not be at all surprised to hear that Captain Kirby acquitted himself best of all. I think there is nothing so dashing as a man in uniform; your sister Alice agrees.
Of course all the talk is still of your little scrape with the Duke of Westbourne. Imagine my surprise when I opened the papers this morning to find the society pages full of the incident which took place in my very own quiet little Larksley! Everybody is most scandalised and Mama has forbidden me from writing to you at all. Naturally, Papa will overrule her if my letter is discovered so do not alarm yourself on my behalf.
I am writing to give you news which I am afraid you will find most distressing. Please be seated so that I can assure myself you will not faint upon hearing it. I know that if I were to find myself in your position I would certainly faint on the spot.
It has occurred to me that you and dear Westbourne may well be forced into an engagement following your indecent behaviour at his dinner party. I cannot in all good conscience allow such an engagement to take place. Assuming, that is, that you believe it to be founded in any way upon affection. I did not take you for a fortune-hunter, but we are all surprised from time to time. Mama says you certainly would not have behaved such a way if it were not for the finery of Westbourne Hall. But I digress.
I am sorry to say that dear Westbourne has been most inconsistent in his declarations of love. Only a day before your sorry escapade he paid a call upon me at home, where he was most insistent that the only lady he truly desired was me. I of course turned him down – it is a very good test of a man’s affections to turn him down once or twice, I advise you to employ it yourself should you find any men willing to court you in future – and he, naturally, insisted again that he could not live without my return of his affections.
It should have come as no surprise, considering he has been courting me in secret for these past two months, but I must have had a divine inspiration that his heart was not true, for I rejected him out of hand.
Only think how shocked I was to find him embracing you only a day after he had declared his love for me!
It is clear that he is the worst kind of rogue, and I implore you not to attach yourself to such a man. No matter how much money he has, the only end I can foresee for your marriage is ruin.
I trust that the bonds of our friendship hold true despite this wickedness which has come between us. I am relying upon you to keep my confidence and not to reveal to anybody the contents of this letter.
Yours most cordially,
Miss Hendrington
Catherine froze in her seat. Her eyes scanned the letter again and again for some indication that it was all a jest. Could she have misunderstood? Did Miss Hendrington truly mean courting in the usual sense?
No, it was all too clear.
She let the letter fall with a low moan of misery.
Her one consolation was that she had not gone so far as to embroil her father fully in this sorry mess. Hardly knowing what she did, she rang at once for Robson.
“My father is shortly going to rise and ask for letter writing materials to be brought to his room,” she said. “I beg you, do not bring them to him. Tell him that I have thought again and I believe it will fatigue him too much to write now. We must follow the doctor’s instructions.”
“Certainly, Miss,” said Robson, though his puzzled expression suggested that he did not think a letter much beyond the reach of Mr Sharp’s capabilities. “Will you not come and persuade him yourself? If I may, I think he’ll take it better coming from you.”
“I shall go to him later,” said Catherine. “For now, I must go out. I will be back shortly.”
“Shall I call for the carriage, Miss? It’s grown quite late. Your father will be very upset if he hears you have gone out alone.”
“Then you shall not tell him.” She got up and quickly began readying herself for another walk.
The only person who could set her mind at ease was Harry. Therefore, to Harry she would go without further delay.
She walked briskly, not pausing to gaze at the sea view, and suffering a rising nausea that on more than one occasion threatened to overwhelm her. She managed to quell it by quickening her steps. Soon, soon she would be in Harry’s arms. He would tell her it was all a mistake. He would put it right, she was certain.
The words of Miss Hendrington’s letter ran through her head again and again. It is clear that he is the worst kind of rogue… Only think how shocked I was… He could not live without my return of his affections…
By the time she reached the house at Helmsley Grove she felt that she was going quite mad. Her fist trembled as she knocked at the door. The last time she came to this house she had felt adventurous, brave and bulletproof. Now she felt hideously exposed. Her skin crawled with the sensation that the neighbour’s eyes were watching, fixed on her, and coming to their own scandalous conclusions.
The door was opened by Mrs Bosworth, the housekeeper. That in itself was strange.
“I must see His Grace at once,” said Catherine.
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss. He is not at home.”
Catherine blinked in shock, but recovered herself swiftly. “He will be at home to me. Please tell the Duke that Miss Catherine Sharp is here to see him urgently.”
Mrs Bosworth looked awkward. “I cannot, Miss. He has gone away.”
“What?”
Catherine felt the whole world slipping away from her.
“My master was unexpectedly called away to London,” Mrs Bosworth explained gently, seeing that Catherine was in some distress. “I do not know when he’ll be b
ack. You were better to write than leave a message, Miss.”
Catherine clutched at the doorframe to support herself. She hardly knew whether the ground was below her or spinning above. The shock of Harry’s departure was like a lead weight in her stomach.
What business could call him away at so delicate a time? They were not even yet officially engaged.
If he did not stay to receive her father’s permission Catherine would find herself embroiled in the most vicious scandal.
Was that even what she wanted anymore? Could she possibly marry a man who had been courting another, even to save herself from ruin?
These thoughts raced through her mind at a painful speed. But she would not let herself lose control in front of a servant. She drew herself up proudly and spoke in a clear, if trembling, voice.
“Thank you, Mrs Bosworth. I bid you good day.”
She was halfway down the garden path when a voice called, “Wait!”
Mrs Bosworth came hurrying out into the garden, her skirts flapping about in the breeze. “Begging forgiveness, Miss, but the thought has just now occurred – did you say you were Miss Catherine Sharp?”
Catherine nodded. She had been on the verge of giving in to tears once her back was turned to the house; it was only lucky timing that saved her from embarrassing herself further in front of the housekeeper.
“The boy was sent to your house with a note before His Grace left,” said Mrs Bosworth. “I shall box his ears if it has gone astray!”
“Please, do not chastise him,” said Catherine quickly. “I have some idea now of what has happened.”
She returned home with not a single tear staining her cheeks. A new determination filled her as the sea wind threatened to whip the bonnet from her head.
Whatever was to happen next – whatever cruel trick fate or the rakish Duke had played upon her – she was resolved to be equal to it.
“Robson!” she called, the moment she was home. Her voice reverberated around the hall, steady and imperious.
The Duke Suggests a Scandal Page 12