I know you were never involved with her, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment. The blame is being placed squarely on your shoulders.
These are the facts. Professor Caruthers chased Attwood and his daughter all the way to Gretna Green, only to discover they’d never arrived. He tracked them to a little town, but only his daughter was there. Charles Attwood had abandoned her.
Caruthers tried to track down the blackguard, but he slipped away, leaving no trail behind. I know how distasteful it must be for you to share the same first name with such a man, but I think that the similarity in your names has caused a great deal of confusion. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but according to some stories I’ve heard, he sometimes impersonated you.
Apparently, once Attwood had bedded the little idiot, she confessed she had lied about her inheritance. After a great deal of shouting and arguing, he ran off in the night, leaving the bill unpaid and the girl unprotected.
She proves to be a complete bubble head. Why lie to Attwood to trick him into marriage, ruining herself in the process, only to confess her trickery before the wedding could take place? It defies comprehension.
Her father insists she marry and is casting around for anyone he can drag into his net. It would be best for you to lie low for a while, as I think he will be coming after you next. He is desperate to get the baggage married, and he holds you partially to blame since her name has been linked to yours. He believes you may have aided Attwood in her seduction.
I suggest you take an extended trip away from London as I believe Caruthers will look for you there.
Your friend,
M.
Poor Charles. No wonder he had left. Calliope had created an enormous mess.
25 - A Secret Revealed
He entered the tavern, searching for the two men he’d hired to take Huntley. The room was dark, even in the middle of the day, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust. He spotted the men sitting at a narrow table in the corner of the otherwise unoccupied room and wove through the haphazardly arranged tables to join them.
He grabbed a chair from a nearby table and pulled it up to the booth, straddling it backward as he took a seat. “What happened?” he demanded, leaning forward over the back of the chair. “Huntley is walking around town, plain as day.”
The two former dockworkers exchanged glances, and then, as if by some agreement, the smaller of the two spoke. “Someone saw us. We had to run or be caught.”
“Bah. You were two against one,” he snapped back, his voice dripping with scorn. “You were scared, admit it.” There was nothing he hated more than a coward. “I’m paying you good money, and I expect results. What good are you if you can’t take a lone man on a foggy night?”
The pair shifted nervously. The smaller one spoke up again. “We might not have taken him, m’lord, but we have some information you may find useful.” As he explained what they’d seen at Huntley’s town house, and what they’d learned about Lady Catherine Williams, daughter of the Earl of Kensington, his employer’s eyes grew wide.
If this was true, it could change everything. “Are you absolutely certain about your information?” he asked, his mind racing. “If you’re wrong, you’ll scuttle my whole plan.”
“We’re sure, m’lord. We was searchin’ Huntley’s place when they arrived, and we slipped out while they slept. They never knew we was there. She spent the night with him, that’s for sure. And we followed her home the next day. It was her. I’d swear on it. We saw her goin’ from the stable to the house as she changed her disguise.”
“How extraordinary.” This information might well prove to be more useful than anything he could have forced from Huntley if the kidnapping had been successful. “You may have botched your real assignment, but if this proves to be true, I’ll reward you handsomely.”
26 - A Dismal Week
That evening at the ball, Catherine eavesdropped shamelessly, but she heard no rumors concerning her fencing. Huntley wasn’t in attendance. One or two guests mentioned that he’d left for his new estate outside London, and relief seeped into her bones.
A small kernel of satisfaction began to grow within her. In an amazing reversal, Huntley had gone from being a potential threat to an ally. For such a conventional man, she never would have guessed he’d be so understanding about her passion for fencing.
An uneventful week passed. No rumors, no sidelong looks, but also, unfortunately, no fencing. Avoiding it was akin to torture, but with Charles gone, she didn’t dare try to slip away again. Not after what had happened the last time she’d ventured out to Bernini’s alone. Instead, she threw herself into her role as the proper Lady Catherine. It was always wise to bank some goodwill with Mother by accommodating her this way, so Catherine threw all her energy into the task.
In the past she had always been able to find at least some modicum of enjoyment in the whirl of social activity, but with Mother’s increased fervor for making the “right impression,” it all took a greater toll on Catherine than usual. The entertainments quickly became both tedious and overwhelming. In addition, her conscience had been nagging at her all week long. Her carelessness could have led to ruin. Not only for herself, but for her family as well. Was she taking too big of a risk?
By the end of the week, the stress of living this false life wore upon her, and her mask became a heavy burden.
As she sat at home alone that evening, an emptiness grew within her. It was as though a piece of her true self was being torn loose. Is this what it would feel like if she were to turn her back on fencing forever? What if she married someone who forbade it?
She hoped Charles would return to London soon, or she’d have no hope of winning the tournament. She didn’t even have Huntley to distract her. She’d gone from trying to avoid him at every event to missing him now that he was away. She’d come to enjoy those cat-and-mouse games they’d played.
§
The next morning, Mother scrutinized her closely over breakfast. “Catherine, dear,” she said, dabbing her mouth with a linen napkin, “perhaps you’d like to rest this afternoon. I hoped that staying home last night would have reinvigorated you the way it normally does, but I see it has not.”
Catherine pressed her lips together, saying nothing.
“You know I enjoy your company, but I must admit you’re looking a trifle overtaxed. You mustn’t overreach yourself on my account, dear. You know how I worry about your health. You have dark circles under your eyes.”
She was stretched thin as tissue paper from lack of sleep. Her conscience had been keeping her awake. She glanced at her mother and gave her a wan smile. “I have a slight headache this morning,” she said, inventing the excuse and then realizing it was true. “You’re probably right. I’ll take a break from our afternoon calls and rest. That should rejuvenate me for the dinner this evening with The Duchess of Linsley”
Mother nodded her approval. “That sounds like an excellent plan.” She gestured toward Catherine’s plate. “Make sure you eat a good meal. You’ve been picking at your food lately, and I don’t want you to have one of your relapses.”
Catherine glanced down at the table so her mother couldn’t read her expression. Nearly all of those relapses had been caused by a combination of late, vigorous nights fencing at Bernini’s and a lack of sleep. But not this time. Her stomach clenched, and she forced a bite of food past her lips. What if she worried herself into a relapse? Was that possible? She took another bite, forcing herself to continue to eat until she had finished everything on her plate.
Mother left the table with a satisfied smile on her face, obviously pleased to have solved the problem of Catherine’s lethargy so handily.
Catherine felt trapped. As trapped by her current life and its restrictions as a marionette in a Punch and Judy show. Always the same. Always under someone else’s control.
But at least Punch and Judy could whack each other, rather than smiling until their cheeks froze in place.
Wait. Maybe not. Punch and Judy’s cheeks were frozen in place.
I AM a marionette. The thought chilled her.
Blast them all! Why did everyone in polite society have to behave in exactly the same manner? Why could no one ever show the slightest hint of individuality?
Maybe the problem lies within me? Perhaps I’m the one who is wrong. Could that be?
She tried to reorient her mind and look at the problem from a different angle.
After all, there were many young women in England who were so disdainful of “polite society” that they chose to spurn it. And others who, upon entering society, decided that the constant round of entertainments simply wasn’t for them.
Not everyone behaved the same way throughout the world. She thought about the women of India who draped themselves in bright silk saris and painted intricate henna designs on the backs of their hands. There were women in the western United States who wore men’s trousers and rode horses bareback. And what of Florence Nightingale? She’d turned her back on the frivolity of aristocracy to do something useful. After returning from Europe, she’d taken it upon herself to inspect London’s hospitals, and then this past fall she’d traveled to Edinburgh and Dublin to inspect the hospitals there as well. The woman seemed unstoppable.
Catherine sighed, pushing her food around on her plate with her fork. She kept going in circles with her thinking, no closer to a solution to her dilemma than she’d been a week ago. How could she bring herself to disappoint her parents and flout convention? She might have been doing it privately for years, but here, on the precipice of a catastrophe, she finally understood what she was risking, not just for herself, but for everyone around her. And rather than a sense of triumph at defying convention, she could only feel shame for putting so many others at risk.
So that left her here. Miserable.
27 - An Abundance of Roses
Catherine recalled that the Duchess of Linsley had an intense fondness for the colors of pink and rose, so she wore a cream-colored dress to keep from competing with the duchess’s décor. She was in the mood to blend in, not stand out.
She slipped the strap of a fan over her wrist as Simpson fastened the clasp of her pearl necklace around her neck. A single larger teardrop-shaped pearl hung from it and nestled itself just above her cleavage.
“Would you like a wrap, m’lady?”
“Yes. Thank you, Simpson.”
Catherine selected a cream wrap with a pattern of roses woven into the soft wool and draped it over her shoulders. When she arrived downstairs, her mother waved a letter in her hand. “Charles says he plans to return in time to attend the Norfolk Ball.”
That would be in four more days. Perhaps his return meant the problem with the girl in Oxford had been resolved.
They scurried inside the home of Her Grace, The Duchess of Linsley, as they tried to avoid being drenched by the downpour of rain. Lady Linsley’s husband had died nearly two decades ago, and her eldest son had been made the Duke of Linsley at the age of fifteen. Her Grace enjoyed hosting dinners and other small social gatherings, but her son rarely attended. The duchess reigned supreme, free of any male control.
Catherine envied her.
At thirty-three, the duke traveled a great deal and was rumored to currently be somewhere in the United States. However, even when he was in London, he avoided his mother’s social events.
Perhaps he loathed pink.
Whenever the duchess could convince him to attend, she loaded her guest list with marriageable young women and tried her hand at matchmaking. Catherine was convinced that Lady Linsley’s unrelenting efforts to broker a marriage accounted for the duke’s frequent trips out of the country, and that the situation perfectly suited Her Grace.
The rain pounded against the windows as Catherine entered the dining room. She found the table draped with cream-colored linen and laid with Lady Linsley’s beautiful collection of cut-crystal wineglasses, heavy heirloom silver, and porcelain charging plates featuring her signature hand-painted roses. The entire table gleamed in the candlelight, and vases filled with lush pink roses stood on the sideboards, perfectly complementing the charging plates.
Catherine most certainly blended into her environment.
As she took her seat at the dinner table, the pleasant floral scent wafted from the sideboard behind her. When she looked up, she found herself sitting opposite the Earl of Stansbury. It was rather like stumbling upon a snake in a lovely garden.
His proximity made Catherine shift uncomfortably in her seat. Toward the end of the previous season, Stansbury had asked permission to court her, to see if they might make a “suitable match,” but Catherine had rejected his advances. His only interest in her must have been her inheritance, since they had nothing in common.
“Lovely day today. It’s been much too long since I’ve had the pleasure of your company.” His oily tones made her cringe.
She offered a stiff smile, but that was as far as she could go. With rain pounding against the windows, she could not agree with him that it was a “lovely day” or that it had been “much too long.” Quite the opposite.
Their conversations were usually stilted and halting. Perhaps the sort of statement he’d just made was why. The man had a penchant for making statements completely contrary to reality. When she’d first refused his offer of marriage late last spring, he’d acted as though he accepted her decision. But since then, she often caught him watching her, and his interest made her uneasy.
Another of her former would-be suitors, Lord Watters, sat next to her, and Catherine found him to be a much safer dinner companion.
“Have you been to the opera lately?” she asked, knowing full well he attended as often as possible.
“Of course. I attended The Beggar’s Opera just a few nights ago,” Watters said.
“Isn’t that the one about pickpockets and highwaymen?”
“And a man who keeps promising different women he will marry them. It’s quite entertaining, although I don’t believe a man in his position could possibly have a happy ending in real life.”
Catherine smiled, wondering if Lord Watters realized how much he had in common with the character in the opera with his frequent declarations of love. They continued chatting this way throughout the meal, and she found herself enjoying his enthusiasm.
For the most part, the dinner passed pleasantly enough. There was an awkward moment partway through the meal when she happened to glance across the table to catch Stansbury’s small eyes fixed on her in a brooding manner, but he glanced away when he saw her startled expression.
Catherine had a growing sense of unease as the evening wore on. Stansbury continued to watch her, and she wanted dinner to end so she could move farther away from him. The way his gaze kept dropping to her cleavage made her uneasy.
After dessert, Catherine quickly made her escape into the drawing room. Just as she had recalled, it was like walking into a flower shop full of roses. The walls were a soft cream, the furniture was upholstered in varying shades of rose, and lush bouquets of roses were scattered around the room. The pink brocade of the sofa had a pattern of roses with pale-green foliage that was soft and muted. She had the distinct impression of standing next to a flower stall. The effect should have been overwhelming, but instead it was quite lovely.
Catherine crossed the room to join Lady Elizabeth, who greeted her with a quick smile.
“Catherine, it’s wonderful to see you. Did you enjoy dinner?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “But I’ve eaten lamb too frequently of late. They served it at the last three events I attended. I must admit that I’m getting a bit tired of it.”
“At least it was delicious. Be thankful that you didn’t attend the same dinner I did last night. The meal was absolutely dreadful, and Mrs. Hetherington was mortified. I’m sure she’s searching for new kitchen staff, so count your blessings.”
Catherine chuckled, finding it impossible to resist her friend’s lively mood. “C
harles promised to return in time for the Duke of Norfolk’s ball. Will you be attending?”
“Most certainly. I had a marvelous time there last year. My dancing slippers were nearly worn through by the end of the evening. Wasn’t that where Lord Watters proposed to you?”
Catherine cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes. We’d only known each other for a week or so, and I hadn’t realized he held me in such high regard.” She scanned the room, looking for Lord Watters, but didn’t see him. He must still be lingering in the dining room.
“That was bold of him.”
She snapped her fan open and held it in front of her face to conceal her grin. “He took me utterly by surprise when he asked for my hand. I’m afraid I didn’t handle it well and burst out laughing. I disguised it with a fit of coughing, so I don’t think he was offended.”
“He must have recovered quickly, as usual,” Elizabeth said. “I hear that the current object of his love is a soprano.”
She shrugged. Lord Watters’s love life held little interest for her. “There must be something more current to discuss. What is the most interesting news you’ve heard of late?”
“Hmmm...” Elizabeth thought, tapping her chin with her index finger. “Well, it’s hard to choose. Perhaps it’s the fact that Lord Larchmont stopped blocking the sale of that estate Huntley bought, but that isn’t really news, is it? He bought it over a week ago.” She searched her memory. “Lord Devlin and some other gentlemen who were visiting Russia are said to be returning soon at the queen’s request. And I heard that Stansbury was on the verge of offering for a young heiress, but now he’s no longer seen in her company,” she said, catching sight of the man across the room. “I think he may have been turned down. Oh, and LeCompte may not be in town much longer. I hear he’ll be returning to France.”
That was an odd bit of news about Huntley’s new estate. Larchmont had been blocking his purchase? Why?
Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book Page 16