‘Which just goes to show how little you know about her. Catherine Jones hasn’t been any man’s mistress since she arrived in London,’ Valbourg said. ‘Her reputation is spotless. Would that the same could be said of yours.’
‘I’ll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself,’ Hugh said, securing a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter. ‘Just because you choose to live like a bloody monk doesn’t mean I have to.’
‘No, but something resembling restraint would be nice for a change,’ Valbourg drawled. ‘Speaking of conduct, watch what you say around Sebastian in future. I’d rather not have him thinking your conduct with women is one worth emulating. As for Miss Jones, keep your distance. She is here for our sister’s enjoyment. Not for your own personal pleasure.’
His brother’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why so protective, Valbourg? It’s not like you to warn me away from a woman. Can it be you’ve a mind to bed the wench yourself?’
Valbourg manufactured a smile for the benefit of a passing guest. ‘I won’t dignify that with a reply, but I trust we understand one another, Hugh.’
‘Miss Jones is off limits.’
For a moment, it was as though they were boys again; each determined to emerge the victor in an ongoing battle of wills. Hugh, three years younger and always the more competitive, still felt the need to prove himself, even though it was usually the elder brother who triumphed. Valbourg refused to allow emotion to cloud his judgement and took the time to weigh the pros and cons of a situation before deciding how to act. Logic trumped anger; reason suppressed passion. It was the only way of making intelligent and rational decisions.
Not that reason or intelligence had anything to do with how a man behaved when it came to a woman, Valbourg reflected narrowly. ‘I want your word on this, Hugh. Miss Jones is a guest in this house. Whatever her occupation or background, she is to be treated with respect while she is here. I will not allow you to harass or embarrass her.’
It was a hollow threat and they both knew it. Catherine Jones was an actress and as such, fair game for any man who wanted her. Indeed, for many actresses, becoming an aristocrat’s mistress was the far more desirable career. By ordering Hugh to behave like a gentleman, Valbourg had all but thrown down the gauntlet—and his brother had never been slow to pick it up.
Surprisingly, however, Hugh only shrugged his shoulders and said, ‘Very well, I won’t try to take advantage of Miss Jones. While it galls me to have to play the part of the gentleman, neither do I have any desire to be raked over the coals by you, or by Father after you trumpet your knowledge of my conduct to him. But mind you watch all the others, Brother,’ Hugh said, lowering his voice. ‘You can’t protect her from every red-blooded male who walks through that door, nor from the thousands who go to see her at the theatre every night. Catherine Jones is a beautiful and desirable woman. And you and I both know there’s nothing a man wants more than a woman someone tells him he can’t have.’
Chapter Two
Valbourg mulled over the significance of his brother’s words as he stood listening to Catherine Jones perform a few hours later. The guests had all assembled in the music room, and when Catherine appeared, elegant in a gown of rose-coloured silk and with pearls glowing at her ears and throat, they had burst into applause, aware that a special treat was in store for them. She had positioned herself beside the piano, waiting for her lady accompanist to begin the opening strains of her first song.
A hush had fallen over the room as Catherine began to sing. In contrast to her petite body, her magnificent voice had swelled to fill every corner of the room, each note crystal clear and perfectly struck. It was as though the music lived within her, the glorious sound bursting forth every time she opened her mouth.
Even her physical appearance changed as she sang. Caught up in the music, her body began to sway, her arms and hands floating gracefully in time. Indeed, there was something decidedly sensual in the way she moved and, judging from the expressions on the faces of most of the men in the room, Valbourg wasn’t the only one who was aware of it.
‘Oh, Val, isn’t she wonderful,’ his sister Mary whispered in his ear. ‘I cannot thank you enough for arranging to have her sing for us.’
‘The pleasure was all mine, dearest. After all, what kind of brother would I be if I did not see to your every wish, especially on a night like this?’
‘You would be like Hugh, who neither sees nor cares about anyone’s desires but his own.’
‘Now, Mary, Hugh is a product of his upbringing,’ Valbourg felt compelled to point out. ‘Third in birth order and second in line to the title, he has always felt the need to compete with me for our parents’ affection and respect.’
‘And never succeeded. At least not with Papa,’ Mary said in a wry tone. ‘Mama spoiled him outrageously, but you were always Papa’s favourite.’
‘Actually, I believe Sarah held that honour,’ Valbourg said softly. ‘Father never spent as much time with any of us as he did with her.’
‘Perhaps because he sensed he wouldn’t have as much time with her as he would with the rest of us.’ Mary sighed. ‘Thank goodness we still have Sebastian. Every time I look at him, I see a little reminder of Sarah in his face. Is he feeling better today? Papa told me you had to have the doctor round to see him.’
‘I did, but thankfully his fever broke last night,’ Valbourg said. ‘He will likely be weak for a few more days, but Tennison said he should make a full recovery.’
‘Thank goodness. I know how worried you were about him.’ Mary hesitated a moment before adding, ‘Still no regrets about having him come to live with you?’
‘Not a one.’
‘Then you don’t mind living the life of a monk? Sorry, dearest. Hugh’s words, not mine,’ Mary said with a smile. ‘But I don’t suppose they’re all that far off the mark. Everyone knows how much you’ve changed your life to accommodate Sebastian’s arrival and I really couldn’t blame you for feeling a little put out. I understand your evening entertainment is now restricted to tame forms of cards and the company of safely married couples.’
‘Dear God, have I truly become so boring?’
‘I’m afraid so. And we all know you’ve Dorothy to thank for that.’
Yes, because when his eldest sister Dorothy had heard that Valbourg was assuming responsibility for Sebastian’s upbringing, she had bluntly called it the most idiotic idea she had ever heard. It didn’t matter that Sarah had asked him, rather than Dorothy or, God forbid, Hugh, to care for Sebastian in the event something should happen to her and her husband. Dorothy maintained it was ridiculous that a man who was only concerned with drinking and whoring should be responsible for the well-being of a child. Even their father had suggested it might be in everyone’s best interests if Sebastian went to live with Dorothy and her husband, given that they already had a son and a daughter in the nursery.
But Valbourg had stood firm. He informed them he had given Sarah his word that he would honour her request and honour it he would. For the most part, he just ignored Dorothy hovering in the background like a dark foreboding cloud.
And then, as though summoned by the mention of her name, Dorothy appeared, drab in a fawn-coloured gown that did nothing for her complexion or her figure.
Not, Valbourg reflected, that his eldest sister had been particularly blessed in either regard. ‘Good evening, Dorothy.’
‘Valbourg,’ she said, adding with a brisk nod, ‘Mary.’
‘Hello, Dorothy. I was beginning to wonder whether or not you were coming.’
‘I was delayed by a crisis below stairs,’ Dorothy said. ‘Some scandal involving one of the maids. Mrs Plinkin came to see me about it just as I was leaving. I told her I had neither the time nor the patience to deal with it and that she should just get rid of the girl.’
‘Compassionate, as always,’ Valbourg mu
rmured.
‘Don’t take that tone with me, Brother,’ Dorothy snapped. ‘I don’t want my children exposed to behaviour like that under my own roof. Speaking of servants, I really must talk to Papa about his new valet. The man is rude and condescending and needs to be taught his place. But I suppose that is what you invite when you hire an Irishman.’
‘I don’t know why you would say that,’ Mary objected. ‘I find Tully very pleasant to deal with.’
‘Of course, because you find everyone pleasant. It is the reason you will fail so miserably as a wife,’ Dorothy stated. ‘Servants need to be taught their place. You do that by maintaining a firm hand. I don’t care if my servants like me. All I require is their obedience and their willingness to work hard.’
‘Which I am sure they do,’ Valbourg remarked. ‘But if Mary’s servants work hard it will be because they like and respect her, not because they are afraid of her. As for her new role, I have no doubt she will make Tyne an excellent wife.’
‘Of course I will,’ Mary said, stung by her sister’s criticism. ‘I love him and he loves me.’
‘Love,’ Dorothy said with a sneer. ‘A highly overrated emotion that serves as no useful foundation for marriage whatsoever. You would have been better off accepting Lord Troon’s proposal.’
‘Troon? The man is sixty if he’s a day,’ Mary said, incredulous. ‘And he is not at all handsome.’
‘Handsome? Of what value are looks when in twenty years’ time they will have vanished, leaving you shackled to a man with whom you likely have nothing in common and with no financial recompense to salve your wounds for being so silly as to accept his proposal in the first place. At least Troon is a worthy catch. He is heir to a dukedom.’
Mary blinked at the harshness of her sister’s reply, but Valbourg simply smiled. ‘I shouldn’t worry about it, Mary. Tyne may not be as wealthy as Troon, but I suspect his looks will last far longer so that even in thirty years’ time, you will have no reason to regret your decision to marry him.’
‘Oh, yes, be sarcastic if you like, but people would do a lot better if they made decisions based on logic rather than emotion,’ Dorothy said. ‘Speaking of which, when do you intend to do your duty and settle down, Brother? You are past thirty now and responsible for the welfare of a young boy. No doubt you would both benefit from the influence of a sensible woman in your lives.’
‘Is that a criticism of the way I am raising Sebastian?’ Valbourg enquired, unwilling to let the remark pass.
‘Not at all. Much to my surprise, you have cast off your dissolute ways and emerged a surprisingly respectable man,’ Dorothy said. ‘But it is past time you gave some serious thought to settling down. You are Papa’s heir, after all.’
Valbourg’s sarcastic rejoinder was lost in the burst of applause that greeted Catherine as she finished her song. He looked up in time to see her execute a graceful curtsy, and though her face was lightly flushed and her blue eyes still sparkled, he could see how weary she was. And why not? It was nearly three in the morning and she had already performed her required six songs as well as three encores. It was time to pay the girl and send her home.
‘Come, Mary,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you wish to meet Miss Jones, now would be the time.’
‘Meet her?’ Dorothy’s pencil-thin eyebrows rose. ‘Why on earth would you wish to meet her?’
‘Because she was kind enough to come here and sing for our guests,’ Mary said.
‘Are you not paying Miss Jones for her time, Valbourg?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then let that be an end of it. One must be careful around women like that, Mary,’ Dorothy warned. ‘Flattery goes to their heads. Gives them airs. Worse, Miss Jones may think Valbourg is interested in her and he certainly doesn’t need that kind of complication in his life. No, tell Harrison to give the girl her money and send her on her way. Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and have a word with Papa. See if I can talk some sense into him before the Irishman robs him blind.’
With a curt nod, Dorothy left, taupe-coloured feathers bending in the breeze.
Mary leaned over and whispered in Valbourg’s ear, ‘Is it truly awful to admit that one doesn’t care much for one’s sister?’
‘Not as awful as it is honest.’
‘It doesn’t seem very charitable.’
‘Honesty seldom is,’ Valbourg said in a wry tone. ‘Come, let us speak to Miss Jones while the Dragon is otherwise engaged.’
* * *
They lined up to speak to her. Knights and their ladies, barons and their baronesses, even a viscount and his viscountess—all took a moment to express their admiration of her voice. Only one crusty old earl and his equally crusty countess left without acknowledging her, but Catherine took the snub in her stride. The majority of guests had been kind enough to speak with her, rendering unimportant the few who were not.
The gentlemen, of course, suffered no such inhibitions. Anxious to convey their compliments, they all rushed forward, asking if they might fetch a plate of refreshments or assist her to a chair. Catherine accepted Mr Brinkley’s offer of a glass of wine and Lord Styles’s insistence on a small plate of food, but the other offers she kindly but firmly refused. All she wanted to do now was go home. She had enjoyed performing for Lady Mary, but the euphoria was wearing off and it was only a matter of time before weariness rushed in to take its place. She wanted to be home in her own bed before that happened. She had to be up again in a few hours.
Suddenly, a path opened and Lord Valbourg, Lady Mary Nelson and her fiancé, Lord Tyne, approached. Valbourg and his sister made a striking pair, Catherine noted. Both so beautiful and blessed with all the good things life had to offer. Oblivious to the darker, more insidious side of human nature—
‘Miss Jones, I cannot thank you enough for coming to sing for us tonight,’ Lady Mary said, taking both of Catherine’s hands in hers. ‘I see why they call you the Angel of London, for truly God’s own choir could not contain a more divine voice.’
‘Thank you, my lady,’ Catherine said, genuinely touched by the woman’s charity. ‘It was a pleasure to sing for you and Lord Tyne, and I am so glad you enjoyed it.’
‘We did. My brother, too,’ Lady Mary said, reaching for Valbourg’s arm. ‘“The True Lover’s Farewell” is one of our family’s favourites. Mama used to sing it to my sister and I before we went to bed.’
‘I’m so pleased. Is your sister here?’ Catherine asked, glancing around the room for a younger version of Lady Mary. ‘I don’t believe we have been introduced.’
She turned back in time to catch the look that passed between brother and sister and wondered if she had said something wrong. Seconds later, she realised she had when Valbourg said, ‘Sadly, my sister is no longer with us. She passed away two years ago.’
Catherine’s eyes widened in dismay. So, all was not blissful in the house of Alderbury. Tragedy had touched this golden family, stealing one of their own and leaving an empty place in their hearts. ‘I am so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I would not have performed the song, had I known.’
‘But you did not and therefore owe us no apology,’ Valbourg said. ‘I doubt there is a song in the world that doesn’t evoke poignant memories for someone.’
That might be true, but it did not take away from the fact that she had been the one to bring those painful memories back, Catherine thought regretfully. She might not know Valbourg well, but she sensed he was a man who betrayed little of his feelings, yet felt them keenly, especially when it came to his family.
‘Will you take some refreshment, Miss Jones?’ Lady Mary asked, forcing a cheery note into her voice. ‘Valbourg told me you came here straight from your performance at the Gryphon.’
‘Thank you, but I’m really not hungry,’ Catherine replied. ‘Lord Styles has gone to fetch a plate, but at the risk of soundi
ng rude, I would rather go home. It is late and I have an early rehearsal in the morning.’
‘Of course. How selfish of us to keep you here talking. Val, have arrangements been made for Miss Jones’s transportation?’
‘Indeed. I shall go and see to the carriage now.’
‘Oh, please don’t bother,’ Catherine said quickly. ‘As I said before, I am quite capable of travelling around London on my own.’
‘And as I said earlier, that will not be necessary. It is late and you have been kind enough to perform at my sister’s betrothal celebration,’ Valbourg said. ‘I suspect Theo Templeton would have something to say if I did not take the very best care of you.’
Catherine lowered her eyes, as much to hide her confusion as to acknowledge the unexpected kindness. What was wrong with her? It had been years since a gentleman’s words had brought colour rushing to her cheeks, but Valbourg had done it several times this evening, and with no effort at all.
She would have to be careful. While he might not approve of her, he nevertheless aroused feelings Catherine thought gone for ever; feelings that had lain dormant since Will’s death. It was unsettling to discover they had simply been...misplaced.
Especially now when she was so close to achieving her goal of regaining custody of her son. To forfeit that now through a careless or unguarded action would be the height of folly and something for which she would never forgive herself.
‘Well, I suppose we should be returning to our guests,’ Lady Mary said to her fiancé.
‘And I shall go and see to the carriage,’ Valbourg said. ‘If you would be good enough to wait here, Miss Jones, I shall make the arrangements and then come back for you. In the interim, please do enjoy some of what Lord Styles brings you. My father really does have one of the finest chefs in London.’
He left with his sister and her fiancé, and moments later, Mr Brinkley returned with the promised glass of wine and Lord Styles with a small plate of food. Catherine was quite sure there was enough on it to feed Mrs Rankin and herself for three days, but smiling her thanks, she took the glass and the plate and sat down at a small table as the room continued to empty and the majority of guests returned to the ballroom. Unfortunately, several of the gentlemen lingered.
No Place for an Angel Page 3