CATHERINE (Pride & Prejudice continued.... Book 2)

by Sue Barr

  “What of the book I passed on to Grayson?”

  “That has become a bit of a conundrum. There are squirts and squiggles laced all through the book, but without a legend, no one came make head’s or tails of it. Still, it gives the scholarly type of spy something to do on a cold winter’s night.”

  “I cannot recall anything that would constitute a legend in the documents I left behind. There may be other hiding places. I only found the one.”

  “We hope to search his estate in the next few weeks. As it is, I now have to locate his daughter. Stanhope has been searching for her for about five years without success, and I am not sure we could do any better than the pack of wolves he hired to track her down.”

  George felt a true smile tilt the corners of his mouth, anticipating the Colonel’s surprise at his piece of news.

  “You need look no further than here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He gave a nod to a slight figure hurrying down the path toward the stables, a small bag in her hand. “Lady Harriet approaches as we speak.”

  “Well, son of a gun. I never saw that one coming.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Papa went to Cambridge with Viscount Stanhope and they shared a love of antique books. The Viscount would visit Longbourn, not regularly, more like once or twice a year and Papa would grudgingly reciprocate. You know how much he hates to leave his book room.”

  It was past midnight and Lord George and Kitty were seated in the sitting room which adjoined her bed chamber. It was the one room where they were guaranteed privacy. He nodded at the apt description of her father. She knew most people thought Papa spent far too much time in his book room, but it hadn’t always been like that. Prior to her fall from grace, Papa spent most evenings with the family, enjoying parlor games and listening to what each of his girls had done in the day. After… well, he retreated into his own world and Kitty now knew it was because he was deeply ashamed.

  “The Viscount had a daughter, Lady Harriet. She was the same age as me, and when I got older, Papa would take me with him to Creighton Castle and we’d play together. The Viscount was always so attentive and I loved the singular attention.”

  “Why was that?”

  How many times had she asked herself that very question? The answer had not come easy. She sighed deeply, stood and moved to gaze out the window, seeing nothing but bright moonlight caressing the cultured shrubs and trees. She didn’t need to see disappointment mar his features.

  “Jane and Lydia were Mama’s favorite and Lizzy had such a unique connection with Papa. Mary kept to herself with reading and music. There was nothing which singled me out from my sisters, the exception being a persistent cough, which has thankfully stopped. I finally had something of my own. The Viscount never paid attention to my sisters the way he did me.” She clasped her hands and squeezed them tight. “Oh, how I wish he had not.”

  “You were a child. You cannot blame yourself.” Lord George came and stood beside her, the warmth emanating from his body both comforting and tortuous.

  “No, but I blame myself for not running away. When he entered my room one night I was so frightened. He held me down and I could hardly breathe. He was so heavy, I… I was only eight years old.”

  Lord George cursed Stanhope under his breath and she continued.

  “He told me how powerful he was, much like he did tonight, and that he would ruin Papa if I ever told anyone. After….” she choked back a sob. Enough. Lord Jacobson had stolen enough from her. She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “After that encounter, we left the next day. At the time I was not sure if Papa knew what happened but have since found out he did. Regardless, we never visited the Viscount again and he never returned to Longbourn.”

  “Catherine, Stanhope will never harm you, or anyone else ever again.”

  “How do you know?” she cried out in real anguish, not registering that he’d called her by her given name. “He is a vile creature, too used to getting his own way. And he is rich, and powerful.”

  “Not powerful enough to survive a bullet.”

  Her startled gaze flew to his reflected one in the window. The gunshot she’d heard killed Stanhope? At her unspoken question, he nodded in the affirmative. Her shoulders slumped and with her face cradled in the palms of her hands, she wept softly.

  Before she knew it, she was pressed against Lord George’s broad chest, strong arms holding her close, his steady heartbeat a soothing balm for her tortured soul. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he pressed a light kiss to the top of her head before he released her and moved a few paces away.

  “Get some sleep, my lo−” George turned his face away from hers. “Your family arrives in the early afternoon and the ball is tomorrow night. I know you want to look well rested and beautiful.”

  “How can I think of a ball when a man is dead?”

  “Sadly, Miss Catherine, life marches on regardless of whether you dance or not. You may as well enjoy the moments you have and not regret what you cannot change.”

  With that, he gave her a polite bow and after checking to make sure no one was roaming the halls, exited her sitting room. As the door closed she clasped her arms around her middle and squeezed, feeling more alone now than she’d ever felt in her short life.

  Now he knew everything. Tomorrow, in the cold hard light of day, she’d find out if he still held her with warm regard or would give her the cut direct.

  ***

  Chandeliers glittered from the light of hundreds of candles and the musicians played softly in the background in preparation for the first dance. Nathan and Caroline would lead off the first dance set, along with Darcy and Elizabeth, Charles and Jane. If they so desired to dance, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet would join and George knew his brother Maxwell would have their mother on his arm. With no one in particular assigned to be his partner, he waited until Miss Catherine entered the room and moved toward her.

  She looked positively regal in a light cream silk dress with crimson roses cascading down in a graceful swirl from her waist to the floor. Her bodice and sleeves had been trimmed in the same bold color. Matching flower buds were peppered through her mahogany curls, which had somehow been magically secured in an intricate manner atop her head.

  The men of Hertfordshire, and more specifically the men of Meryton, were fools for not snatching this goddess up when they had the chance. He didn’t care if people gossiped, but he planned on securing the first two sets with her, as well as the supper set. If he had his way she’d sit out the rest of the dances in a dark corner. He had no desire to watch her on the arm of someone other than himself.

  He knew when she’d spotted him approach. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted slightly – looking absolutely, positively kissable – and a becoming blush crept across her cheeks, giving them a rosy hue. All in all, she was absolutely captivating and one day, he’d make her his.

  “Miss Catherine,” he murmured as he took her gloved hand and bowed over it.

  “Lord George,” she returned with a polite curtsy, attempting to remove her fingers from his hold.

  After a brief, silent tug of war, he let her go. The rosy hue had changed to two flags of color on each cheek. Adorable.

  “If you are not otherwise engaged, may I solicit the first two dances?”

  “Oh… I thought the first sets were for family only.”

  He could see that his request flustered her greatly.

  “You forget, I am family. Nathan is my brother,” he reminded her with a soft chuckle.

  “But, is there not another lady of higher standing who should be your partner? Maybe Lady Cavendish, perhaps.”

  Ah… she’d had time to regroup from last night and now wanted to know what his relationship with Evangeline was about.

  “Even though Lady Cavendish and I are old friends, she is not the one I wish to partner with. That honor belongs to you, and you alone.”

  She paused for so long George was afraid the music would
start and they’d miss the first set completely.

  “Yes, you may have the first two sets, Lord George.”

  Before she changed her mind, he plucked the dance card from around her wrist and scribbled his name beside the required dances. He also wrote his name next to the supper set. He longed to claim her for every dance, but even he knew that was ridiculous, although it was tempting – just to see her reaction.

  The call for the supper set was announced, and George, who’d been standing next to Darcy moved to Catherine and offered her his arm. His mother, speaking with Lady Dalrymple, arched an elegant brow in his direction and he knew she’d have a few choice questions for him later on.

  He and Catherine lined up with the other dances and the strains of a waltz began playing. Holding out his hand for her, he drew her close and slid his other arm around her trim waist. The waltz wasn’t as scandalous as it had been the year prior but having the chance to hold Catherine in his arms in an almost lover-like embrace was too good to pass up.

  They began to move with the music and soon he realized she was counting softly under her breath. 1, 2, 3; 1, 2, 3;

  “Miss Catherine.” She stopped counting a stumbled. Quickly he tightened his grip and twirled her around to hide her small stumble. “Have you never danced the waltz before?”

  “Is it that obvious? Miss Darcy and I practiced most of the afternoon and I was sure I had mastered the timing.”

  “You are doing magnificently. Have you noticed, since you stopped counting, that we have traversed the length of the ball room and with no mistakes?”

  “You must think me a silly goose.”

  “No,” he whispered against her ear. “I think you are positively radiant and need to trust your intuitions.”

  With that, he twirled her around again and they danced in silence. At the end of the set, he offered her his arm and took her into the room set aside for supper, escorting her to the table where his mother sat with Maxwell.

  “Miss Catherine Bennet, may I introduce my mother, Lady Margaret Kerr, Dowager Duchess of Adborough.”

  Catherine curtsied deeply and his mother gave her a polite, if somewhat regal nod. At his look of warning over Catherine’s bowed head, she smiled. His mother was no fool, she knew this was the woman he’d chosen and would carefully interrogate her over supper. George planned on being right by her side and not let his loving family intimidate her in any way.

  He excused himself to get them some punch and fought the mad panic that gripped his gut when he was delayed by slow moving patrons. Frantic, he scanned the crowd for his table and almost stopped in his tracks at the sight of his mother laughing so hard, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

  Eyes bright with merriment, Catherine continued, making small gestures with her hands. Every time she pointed to another part of her body, Mother laughed a little harder. Even Max was having a hard time not to smile too broadly.

  When he rejoined them, Mother held her hand out to him and he sank into the chair next to her, his and Catherine’s punch still in his hands.

  “Oh, dear George. Why have you not shared how you met Miss Catherine? I have never laughed so hard in all my life, except the time your father made me punish you boys for spitting paper wads at that horrid vase.”

  “We thought you loved that vase. You said it was priceless,” Max said, his tone incredulous.

  “That old thing? It was ugly and handmade by my crazy aunt who had fallen in love with all things from the Orient. My hope was you all would tear into the room one day and accidentally knock it over. Why else do you think I kept it near the door. With three boys, one of you was bound to kick the table in your haste.”

  “You made us polish all the silver in the house because of… the incident.” Both George and Max said ‘the incident’ at the same time.

  “That was also your father’s idea. Even though we hated the vase, you all had to be taught a lesson in respect. Polishing the silver was my idea. You do not want to know what your father had in mind for your punishment.”

  “You are correct. I do not, although I imagined it would have involved our substantial stable and removal of animal droppings.” George mused out loud.

  “I always knew you were a clever boy,” his mother agreed. “I am of half a mind to put you to that task after the harrowing tale told to by Miss Catherine. How you barely missed her head as you jumped over her at the last minute on your horse.”

  “Traitor,” he said to Catherine, who’d listened to their conversation with rapt attention.

  “I only repeat what my mother sees fit to share with all the principal families in our small village of Meryton.”

  “Oh no. This does not bode well for me.” He absentmindedly held out her glass of punch.

  “No, Lord George, it does not.” Catherine smiled sweetly and plucked the glass from his hand. “Thank you for the punch.”

  How tall had the story become in the ensuing months since he’d attended Longbourn? Given Mrs. Bennet’s bent for theatrics, he had a good idea everyone probably thought he and Buttons had trampled Catherine mercilessly and she nearly died. Fortunately, the Bennet’s were headed home to Longbourn the next week and the neighbors would see for themselves that she was hale and hearty. Otherwise, there was no way he could safely show his face in Meryton without being run out of town.

  “If I may lend some advice, Miss Catherine?” Mother leaned toward her. “I would hold out for a few more books for your father’s library as recompense.”

  “I suggested to your son that he throw me into a pond when we were walking in the park a few months ago, assuring him that Papa would bargain for a new annex to house all the books coming his way.”

  “Oh, my goodness,” Mother cried out. “I feel you have your father’s wicked sense of humor.”

  “You know my father?” Catherine asked in surprise.

  “Yes, as you were telling me your story I remember my husband speaking of a Thomas Bennet he knew from Cambridge. Surely, they must be the same man. He always appreciated your father’s quick wit and ability to recall any article or book he read. He said it was quite remarkable, that ability.”

  “I am pleased your husband knew my father. Over the years Papa’s lost touch with many of his friends from Cambridge. Not for lack of trying on their part, but he preferred his books to society and everybody moved on with their own lives.”

  “How true, my dear. How true.”

  George marveled at where this conversation had led. Why hadn’t Mr. Bennet told him he knew his late father? He’d have to ask him when he saw him next. Life had an interesting way of placing curves in the road and this was one of them. The other was the tacit understanding he and his mother had at this very moment. Given her delight in Catherine, he knew beyond a shadow of doubt, she approved his choice. Now all he had to do was convince the lady to become his bride.

  Longbourn, early spring

  For months following Nathan and Caroline’s wedding, Lord George Kerr stopped at Longbourn on his way to Keswick Manor, and on his way back to London. He’d stay for a few hours each time and always ask if she and Mary would like to take a walk, or if the weather was inclement, spent the time having tea and gossiping with Mama and sometimes Papa.

  He was all politeness and affability and she wanted to kick him in the shins.

  Then, he arrived on horseback right after dinner a week ago, a determined look on his face. Her mother almost bent over backwards in accommodating his every wish during his impromptu visit. What were his favorite foods? Did he like red wine or would he prefer port? Were his accommodations up to his standards? Did he prefer tea or coffee in the morning when he broke his fast?

  And Papa. Who knew what he was up to. He actually stayed in the parlor with them each evening, eschewing his books and port and played cards! He and Lord George played chess, they played Backgammon, they rode around the estate, they even went fishing one day. They talked about his father, the former Duke, and Papa’s university
days.

  Kitty was about to go mad from all of it as not once did he single her out for his attention. Even Mary admitted she had no idea what Lord George was up to.

  Finally, she’d had enough. She grabbed Mary’s book, Sense and Sensibility, and disappeared into the small garden at the back of the house. There was a nice quiet bench beneath the old oak, and she could hide there for a few hours in the world of Elinor and Marianne while the sun shone enough to keep her shoulders warm.

  She’d read only the first chapter, developing a strong loathing for the Dashwood’s half-brother when she heard the snap of a twig. Looking over her shoulder, her gaze lit upon Lord George leaning against the oak, strong arms folded across his chest, long legs stretched out before him, one foot casually crossed over the other. A deceptive picture of ease. How long had he been there, watching her?

  Her breath hitched and by the glint in his eyes she knew he’d seen that. He was by far too observant, the wretched man. Here she was, trying to keep a sensible distance between them and he kept encroaching on her hard-won peace and quiet. Well, not so much peace, but it was quiet in this corner of Papa’s estate.

  Determined to ignore him, she picked up her book and resolutely stared at the page. Not one word filtered into her brain, but he didn’t need to know that. The bench creaked from the weight of his body when he sat down beside her.

  “With you I can have no secrets.” He stated, out of the blue. “Up until this past year, I have been a spy for the King, travelling to France more times than I care to remember.”

  She gasped at his declaration and dropped the book onto her lap as she turned to face him. What other secrets had he kept from her?

  “I aided in Evangeline’s escape from France where we almost lost our lives and I lost my hearing for a few days when a musket went off right beside my ear. We set up a covert operation whereupon her husband, who stayed behind in France, forwarded us important papers. For over three years we dissembled information and saved the lives of countless men and women. I’m fluent in French, Spanish and Latin and can get by in German if they do not speak too fast.” He stopped his narrative and she knew he was attempting to gauge her reaction. “That, dear Catherine, is my faithful narrative. You may confer with Lady Cavendish, although she will be more hesitant than I to share the details. Her husband remains on the Continent and she fears for his safety every day.”