by Cheryl Holt
But Catherine and Libby! Two in one day! In one day! What had Gertrude ever done that she would be punished by having to deal with such wickedness?
She had no connection to Miss Barrington so it had been simple to trick her into slinking away, but Libby was a different situation. Herbert had a duty to her and was expected to watch over her. Of course he’d dumped Libby in Gertrude’s lap, and now look where they were! What a disaster!
Libby was pale and nervous, as if her loose ways had finally caught up with her.
“You wanted to speak to me, Gertrude?” she said.
“Yes, Libby, sit down please.”
“What is this about?”
“I won’t confer with you when you’re standing across the room. Shut the door and come over here.”
Gertrude gestured for her to approach, and Libby dawdled as if she might refuse, but in the end she marched over and plopped down.
“What is it?”
“I have to pose a difficult question, and you will give me a truthful reply.”
“All right.”
Gertrude could see the wheels spinning in Libby’s mind as she devised falsehoods to spew even though she hadn’t yet heard Gertrude’s query. Unfortunately, she couldn’t fib about this predicament. When a babe was planted, it swiftly became visible.
“I’ll only ask this once,” Gertrude said, “and don’t you dare lie to me.”
“Fine, I won’t lie. Ask your question.”
“How far along are you?”
Clearly, Libby hadn’t anticipated the blunt topic. She blanched with astonishment. “What are you talking about?”
“It’s been brought to my attention that you may have behaved inappropriately.”
“Who told you that?” Libby’s focus narrowed, and she snorted with derision. “Kit tattled, didn’t he? Is that it?”
“I wouldn’t consider it tattling. He was concerned about you and thought you might be in trouble.”
“Oh, yes, Kit Stanton is a veritable saint in his worrying about others.”
“I notice you haven’t answered me. Are you ruined?”
Libby blushed ten shades of red. “How would I know if I had been?”
Gertrude shook her head with disgust. She was an unsullied spinster who’d been kissed precisely three times in her whole life. How could she possibly have this discussion when she wasn’t sure herself what was required? She had a vague notion, but no genuine understanding.
“You wouldn’t have to guess,” Gertrude carefully said. “You’d be certain.”
“Mr. Swift was always a gentleman with me.”
“That’s hilarious.”
“We’re supposed to marry, but Kit claims he left town on the spur of the moment so I have no idea if the wedding is postponed or what.”
Gertrude sighed. Why were girls so gullible? Why were they so silly? “If he sneaked away without a word to you, why would you imagine there’s to be a wedding?”
“He promised!” Libby declared. “He meant it too.”
“He didn’t mean it, you ridiculous creature.”
“He did mean it. I’m positive there’s been a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“He can’t have intended to leave me behind. Could Mr. Bolton locate him for me?”
Gertrude gazed up at the ceiling, praying for guidance, for patience. “Mr. Bolton won’t help you with this. In fact, after he’s apprised of the problem you’ll need to brace yourself.”
“What could he do to me?” Libby was mutinous. “Will he beat me? He’d be too busy to find a thick rod to use for the thrashing. He’s that separated from us, and don’t act as if he’s not.”
It was exactly the sort of snotty comment that made Gertrude loathe Libby. She had no tact, no delicacy in her remarks or habits. She was greatly irked at having to live under Herbert’s roof. Would she rather have starved on the street? She was so stupidly ungrateful, and Gertrude was tired of fussing with her.
“What is your plan, Libby? What if you are with child? Are you hoping we will allow you to stay on with a belly out to here”—Gertrude crudely gestured over her stomach—“and no ring on your finger?”
“Mr. Swift would marry me—if Mr. Bolton would force him to return to London. Kit could probably tell us where he went.”
“Even if we tracked down this Mr. Swift, why would Mr. Bolton permit you to wed him?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“We have never even met him, Libby. We have no information about his ancestry or family. The sole detail we’ve learned for sure is that he is the type to seduce an unsuspecting female, then vanish after the damage is done.”
“He’ll come back for me,” Libby said, but she didn’t sound convinced.
“If you believe that, you’re an idiot. You’ve been debauched and abandoned by a libertine.”
Apparently, Libby was much more distressed than she’d let on. Her bravado fled, and she burst into tears. As her woe poured out, she looked very young, very scared.
“I’m giving you two choices,” Gertrude told her. “You may pick the one you prefer. It matters not to me.”
“What are my choices?” Libby was nearly blubbering with dismay.
“If you wish to chase after your dear Mr. Swift, you are free to depart. I won’t stop you. Pack a bag and be off, but you should realize that you will never be welcome here again.”
“I haven’t a clue where to start in searching for him.”
“Precisely,” Gertrude snapped, “so this is what I am willing to implement for you. I’m familiar with an unwed mother’s home in the country. It’s a charity supported by the lady’s aid society at my church. You would go there for a few weeks so we can discover if you are with child.”
“How would I know if I am or I am not?”
“If you are not, your monthlies will arrive right on schedule.”
“And if I am?”
“Your monthlies will cease for the next nine months, and your tummy will begin to swell.”
“I see.”
“After a determination is rendered as to your condition, you will either remain there for the birth or you will have dodged a very dangerous bullet. You’ll be ruined, but the scandal will have been buried.”
Actually, despite the outcome, Libby would never return to them. She was only eighteen, and Herbert had a father’s authority over her until she was twenty-one. She was an unrestrained, unrepentant trollop who would bring perpetual trouble and shame to the Boltons. Why should they tolerate it?
Gertrude intended to persuade Herbert to lock her in a convent. The Sisters of Mercy ran a renowned one outside Edinburgh in Scotland. Libby had no relatives, and if she roamed unencumbered in London she would constantly be knocking on Gertrude’s door, begging for assistance. She’d be a pitiful figure, likely with a line of bastard children clutching her skirts.
No! Libby was a menace, and she couldn’t continue on out in the world when she hadn’t the moral fortitude to control herself.
“If I have a baby there,” Libby asked, “what would happen to it?”
“It will be put up for adoption of course. What would you suppose?”
“But…but…it would be Mr. Swift’s son. How could I give it away?”
She was still weeping, and Gertrude scoffed with derision. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard, and I’m weary of discussing this. What is your choice? Will you leave at once to hunt for the missing Mr. Swift? Or will you permit me to send you to this home in the country?”
They were silent for an eternity, and Gertrude grew increasingly incensed. What did the blasted tart expect? For goodness sake, she was a vicar’s daughter. She knew right from wrong. She knew a strumpet couldn’t blithely fornicate, but pay no penalty.
Finally, Libby mumbled, “I guess I could go to that home.”
“A wise decision. I’ll make the arrangements today, and you’ll be
transported there tomorrow or the next day.”
Gertrude rose from her chair and went over to Libby. She wasn’t an overly large woman, but she was much older than Libby, and with Libby seated in her chair Gertrude towered over her.
“I’m sick to death over this,” Gertrude said. “Are you even sorry?”
“Yes, I’m sorry.”
Gertrude scoffed again. “Sorry you were caught is what I’m thinking. You will proceed to your room and stay there until it’s time for you to depart. You will speak to no one about this.”
“Who would be curious in this dreadful house?”
Gertrude was so riled by the remark that she slapped Libby. Her hand shot out before she could pull it away. “Shut up, Libby, or I’ll toss you out on the street, and you can fend for yourself.”
The wretched girl was lucky the Boltons had taken her in. If Herbert hadn’t offered her shelter, who would have? Not a person in the whole kingdom had wanted her. Only Herbert had agreed.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Libby muttered. “I apologize.”
“Apology accepted. Now get out of here, and head directly to your room. I can’t abide the sight of you.”
Libby stood and had started for the door when a thought occurred to Gertrude. She had finagled Catherine into assuming Kit had forsaken her, and she’d claimed Libby had been seduced by him too. What if Catherine and Libby crossed paths? They’d been friends of a sort. What if Catherine inquired about Kit? It would wreck Gertrude’s careful scheming.
“One more thing, Libby,” she called.
Libby glanced back. “What is it?”
“Miss Barrington has been fired.”
“Why?”
“Because she was having an affair with Kit—of which I’m sure you’re aware.”
Libby shrugged. “I might be.”
“If you ever bump into her and she asks about him, you will tell her you had an affair with him too.”
“What? I never fancied him!”
“I know that, and you know that, but Miss Barrington doesn’t.”
“I couldn’t say that to her. She was very fond of Kit. It would hurt her, and she would hate me.”
“I told her it had transpired so she already hates you.”
“You witch.”
“Shut up or I’ll hit you again.”
Libby had been sufficiently cowed, and she swallowed down any retort.
“I would have your promise about this,” Gertrude fumed. “You’d better lie to her.”
“And if I won’t?”
“Then I will have Mr. Bolton lock you in a convent for the rest of your life.”
“You wouldn’t,” Libby seethed.
“Wouldn’t I? You’re such a fool, Libby. You think you’re so smart, but try to thwart me and see what happens. Since you’re a doxy who likes to flirt with the fellows, I doubt you’d be happy in a convent. Do you?”
They stared, animosity shooting between them, then Libby said, “If you need me, I’ll be in my room.”
“I won’t need you. Not for anything ever again.”
Libby whipped away and stomped out.
* * * *
Christopher was shown into Mr. Bolton’s office. He was behind schedule by two days, the incident with Andrew keeping him occupied until he was certain his brother’s condition was stabilized.
He couldn’t imagine what Catherine must have thought about the delay. He’d sent her a note and hoped she’d received it. He couldn’t bear to envision her waiting for him to arrive, then being crushed when he didn’t.
It had been dangerous to contact her, and the peril underscored how reckless and irresponsible he was being. He was insanely prepared to walk away from his betrothal in order to ally himself with a female he barely knew.
Andrew’s problem with his debts was the shining example of why Christopher yearned to have Priscilla’s money. Would he abandon Andrew to his fate? Apparently, yes, but he was having such reservations.
He was never hesitant about any topic. His years as a soldier had taught him to make a decision, then march down the road he’d selected. But suddenly, he was awash with qualms.
He wanted to marry Catherine immediately. He wanted to sever his engagement to Priscilla immediately. He wanted to save his brother and his estate with Priscilla’s fortune—immediately. He wished he had magical powers so he could wave a wand and have all those options became a reality.
He was eager to inform Mr. Bolton he was crying off, but what man acted as he was about to act? Yet even as he posed the question, he was convinced Catherine would be worth it in the end.
“Hello, Kit,” Mr. Bolton said from behind his desk as Christopher pulled up a chair and sat down.
“Hello, sir.”
“What brings you by?”
“I have to speak with you on an important matter.”
“If you felt compelled to visit me in my warehouse, it must be extremely vital.”
“It is.”
“May I offer you a libation? I don’t usually drink in the middle of the day, but from your expression it appears this will be a difficult conversation.” Bolton gestured to his clerk, Bentley Turner, who was hovering. “Shall we have Bentley fetch us a whiskey?”
Christopher shook his head. “No, thank you.”
Mr. Bolton shooed Turner out of the room, and he exited and closed the door. Once they were alone, Mr. Bolton asked, “What is it? Or should I guess? It has to be my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Might you be here to cry off?”
“Well…yes.”
Bolton chuckled as if the notion was preposterous. “No, Kit, we’re not having any of that.”
“I’m serious, sir. I can’t go forward.”
“Gertrude told me about your quarrel with Priscilla the other night. I’m sorry you had to endure it.”
“I appreciate the sentiment, but it doesn’t change the fact that she is much too immature to be a wife, and I don’t have the temperament to deal with her.”
“I understand your position, but I’m much older and wiser than you so I must counsel you as to your concerns about the marriage. It’s prenuptial jitters, Kit. Every bachelor experiences them.”
“It’s not jitters, sir. It’s a much deeper issue than that.”
“Is it?”
Mr. Bolton studied him in a way that made him feel young and foolish. Then he rose and went to the sideboard to pour two whiskeys. He came back and placed one in front of Christopher, then he carried his own around the desk and sat again. He sipped it, his meticulous gaze never leaving Christopher for a second.
“I hate to mention this,” Mr. Bolton finally said, “but I suppose I have to.”
“What is it?”
“Libby had a talk with Gertrude about you.”
“Miss Markham?” Christopher scoffed. “We’re scarcely acquainted so I can’t imagine what the subject would be.”
“She insists you have been pursuing a significant flirtation with Miss Barrington.”
A muscle ticked in Christopher’s cheek. He could wring Miss Markham’s neck for tattling, but then he’d confessed to Gertrude about her infatuation for Nicholas. No doubt she’d simply been repaying the favor.
How should he reply to Mr. Bolton’s comment? He had to protect Catherine’s reputation so ignorance seemed the best route, but before he could speak up Mr. Bolton said, “Don’t embarrass yourself by denying it.”
Christopher blew out a heavy breath. “All right, I won’t.”
“I fully grasp why you would be attracted to Miss Barrington. She’s beautiful and smart, and I found her to be incredibly refined for a female working in her lowered circumstances.”
“She is very refined,” Christopher agreed. “She started life in a much higher spot, and her family suffered a tragedy that pitched her down society’s ladder.”
“That explains it, and it paints her as a damsel i
n distress. A fellow always likes to save a lady who needs to be rescued. I did it myself when I wed my wife.”
“It’s not that, sir. I love her, and I plan to marry her.”
“Of course you’d like to marry her. You’re a very gallant soul, Kit, and I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”
“So you realize why I can’t proceed with Priscilla.”
“Oh, yes, and I wish your father was alive to provide guidance to you, but he’s not so I must act in his stead. I shall be the one to apprise you that we won’t give your sudden amour any credence at all.”
“If that’s your opinion, you’re not listening to me.”
“I’m listening, and what I’m hearing are the words of a man who’s conflicted about his duty to his kin and his desire to be happy. It’s a weighty burden to carry.”
“I’m not conflicted. I’m certain about what I want.”
“Really, Kit? How long have you known Miss Barrington? A few weeks?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about her past and her parents. Who was her father? Who was her grandfather? You cited a tragedy. What happened?”
“Ah…ah…” Christopher couldn’t supply a single fact. He was such a self-centered ass, and Catherine was so furtive and private, that he’d never pried out any relevant details.
“Kit, you’re ready to forsake me and your father, to renege on your vow to me and him. You’ll ally yourself with a stranger who could be from any scandalous place.”
“She’s not from a scandalous place. You admitted yourself that she’s very elegant and refined.”
“That she is.”
“She had a stellar upbringing.”
“One that she—apparently—hasn’t seen fit to share with you. Why is that?”
Christopher had no answer. Bolton looked sly and shrewd, and as the conversation continued Christopher was feeling less sure, as if he was making every stupid choice.
“Here is what I would like you to do for me,” Mr. Bolton said.
“I can’t guarantee I’ll consent.”
“It’s not difficult. I’d simply like you to retire to the country for a bit. I’d like you to tarry at Stanton Manor—by yourself—while you consider your responsibilities and your options. You should think about your parents and what they might have wanted for you out of life.”