No Place for an Angel

by Gail Whitiker

  What in God’s name was she to do now?

  * * *

  Swansdowne Manor truly was the quintessential country house, Valbourg decided as he stood in front of the mirror dressing for dinner. Lord and Lady Brocklehume provided everything a man might need in the way of recreation and relaxation, and their cook served some of the finest meals to be had this side of London. It was one of the reasons he never hesitated when it came to accepting their invitations.

  But for all the amiability of the guests and the excellence of the accommodation, it was Catherine’s arrival that Valbourg was most looking forward to. He had informed his host and hostess of her willingness to sing for them and, not surprisingly, they had been thrilled. Valbourg was quite sure it was the reason he had been allotted the finest guest room in the house.

  Now, as he headed downstairs and waited for her to arrive, he realised how much time he had devoted to thinking about her and about how important she had become in his life. Not only did he enjoy hearing her sing, but he also genuinely relished spending time with her. She was a rarity: a woman who felt no need to indulge in idle chit-chat and who did not blush or giggle when a gentleman approached. On the few occasions they had engaged in conversation, Catherine had offered intelligent and thoughtful commentary on whatever topic Valbourg had raised. In fact, she had surprised him more than once with the extent of her knowledge about subjects he would not have expected her to be familiar with.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Lord Valbourg,’ Letitia, Viscountess Douglas, said. ‘I was hoping we would have an opportunity to spend some time together this weekend.’

  ‘Good evening, Letty.’ Valbourg’s smile was polite but discouraging. ‘I see you have put off your blacks. Is it a year already?’

  ‘Close enough.’ Her green eyes flashed up at him. ‘One grows weary of playing the grieving widow when one doesn’t feel the part. But I am done with it now and delighted to be back in society. So when it came time to dress for the occasion, I thought of you.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I recall you once saying you were partial to a particular shade of pink.’ She did a graceful pirouette. ‘This shade, if I am not mistaken.’

  Valbourg inclined his head, thinking the maidenly colour a touch inappropriate for a twice-married woman. But not about to admit that his partiality for the colour drew its inspiration from someone else entirely, he said instead, ‘I can hardly admit to liking such a feminine colour, Letty, though I am the first to say how flattering the shade is on you.’

  ‘If I have secured your admiration, I have achieved my purpose,’ Letty said, her gaze lingering on his mouth. ‘I hope it might encourage the possibility of our spending a little time together this weekend.’

  Valbourg knew exactly what kind of time Letty was hopeful of spending with him. They had been lovers in the days before Sebastian’s arrival and she had not been pleased at having to let the association go. She had sought him out at various social gatherings since and suggested they could meet at places other than his home.

  At first, her invitations had been difficult to refuse. Letty was a beautiful woman and a tigress in bed, and, given that she was married to a man who paid more attention to his books than his wife, there was little chance of their affair being discovered. But as time passed and Valbourg began to re-evaluate what was important in his life, Letty had been one of the easier habits to let go. Now she fell well short—and he knew the reason why. ‘Thank you, Letty, but you know I don’t indulge in that kind of activity any more.’

  ‘Not even when you are away from home and in the company of trusted friends?’

  ‘I’m not sure anyone can be trusted when it comes to the kind of behaviour you are suggesting.’

  ‘I don’t know why you would say that. Many of the guests will be indulging in exactly that same kind of behaviour.’

  ‘True, but while others may do as they please, I must be guided by my principles,’ Valbourg said, ‘and I know you would not ask me to compromise those when you know what is at stake.’

  She was clearly disappointed, but mature enough not to alienate him by trying to change his mind. ‘What a waste.’ Then, catching sight of someone in the crowd, she added, ‘Gracious, is that who I think it is?’

  Valbourg turned—along with every other man in the room—as Catherine walked in and stood for a moment in the doorway, resplendent in a gown of pure-white silk overlaid with silver net. Her glorious golden hair was swept up in a Grecian knot, long white gloves covered her arms to her elbows and a strand of diamonds encircled her slender white throat.

  She was breathtaking. An angel in white and silver. But something was missing. Her complexion was unusually pale and, in contrast to her normal sparkling vivacity, her smile looked forced and unnatural.

  ‘If you refer to Miss Jones, I venture to say it is,’ Valbourg said, wondering what had stolen the roses from her cheeks.

  ‘But what is she doing here? I thought she was still performing in Promises.’

  ‘I believe the Gryphon is temporarily closed for repairs. Excuse me, Letty.’

  Ignoring the widow’s pout, Valbourg made his way across the room. By the time he reached Catherine’s side, several other gentlemen had, too, but when she looked up and saw him, it was as though they were the only two people in the room.

  ‘Ah, Valbourg, there you are,’ Lady Brocklehume said, pushing aside two younger gentlemen who were standing in his way. ‘I cannot thank you enough for persuading Miss Jones to sing for us. I hope he didn’t badger you too much, my dear.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Catherine managed a smile, but Valbourg saw how her lips trembled. ‘I was delighted to be asked.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. I am so happy to welcome you to Swansdowne,’ the countess said. ‘I have long been one of your greatest admirers.’

  Catherine’s smile flashed again, but it was a reflex action that disappeared as soon as the countess turned away, making Valbourg wonder what could have happened since her arrival in the country to effect such a change.

  Unfortunately, an explanation would have to wait. A footman arrived and whispered something in Catherine’s ear. She nodded and then followed him out of the room. A few minutes later, the countess clapped her hands and announced that Miss Catherine Jones would sing for them, after which she asked everyone to follow her into the gold drawing room, where the performance was to take place.

  Valbourg followed the rest of the guests into a room sumptuously decorated in crimson and gold and took a seat that gave him a good view of Catherine. She stood by the piano, head down as though to avoid eye contact with anyone. He could almost feel the unhappiness pouring from her, the joy leaching out as though someone had taken a knife and cut a hole in her heart. Something was definitely wrong. At the first opportunity, he intended to take her aside and find out what it was.

  Then the pianist began to play and Catherine slowly raised her head. Her eyes were closed, her face turned to one side as though listening to the music. She began to sing, the first note impossibly high yet exquisitely struck, as clear as a silver hammer hitting a bell. She sang in a way he had never heard her sing before, emotion pouring from her very soul—and Valbourg realised he was fighting a losing battle.

  He wanted her. Not for an hour or a night. He wanted her for the rest of his life, in every part of his life—and he had absolutely no idea how to make that happen. The kind of relationship he longed for with her was impossible. He was heir to a marquessate, his father a peer of the realm. Their lineage was old and respected, and his ancestors had fought to defend King and country. They had done what was necessary to preserve their way of life. They had married well and produced children who had married well. And if they had loved out of their class, they had kept such things in the appropriate place. What he was considering with Catherine was definitely not appropriate, but neither could he stop thinking
about it. Because he knew that with her, one night would never be enough.

  At the end of the song, there was a moment’s silence; the kind that could only follow such a brilliant performance. Then applause rang out as people sprang to their feet, calling her name and shouting accolades. It was the kind of recognition every performer must dream of, yet Catherine did not smile. She looked around the room at the cheering crowd and then executed a deep and graceful curtsy.

  ‘Miss Jones, may I say on behalf of everyone here that you are truly a gift to those of us who appreciate fine music,’ Lady Brocklehume said, wiping her eyes. ‘I am not frequently moved to tears, but I must say, even I was unable to remain dry-eyed throughout that performance.’

  A faint dusting of pink chased the pallor from Catherine’s cheeks, but her voice was still reserved when she said, ‘Thank you, Lady Brocklehume. I am glad you enjoyed it.’

  ‘I did, and I hope we will be able to persuade you to sing a few more songs before you leave us, but for now, stay and enjoy yourself. I am sure many of our guests would be delighted to have this opportunity to speak with you.’

  Lady Brocklehume left, humming the song Catherine had performed. Knowing he would have to act quickly, Valbourg inserted himself into the space where his hostess had been. ‘Miss Jones, I wonder if you would care to take a walk with me? There is a lovely view of the lake and the surrounding countryside from the terrace.’

  She looked up at him and the naked pain in those sapphire-blue eyes stopped him dead. What in God’s name had happened to bring about such desolation and anguish?

  Thankfully, dancing had resumed in the ballroom and most of the guests were moving in that direction, leaving the terrace deserted. Valbourg walked silently at Catherine’s side, aware of her unnatural stillness. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?’ he asked in a soft voice.

  ‘What makes you think anything is wrong?’

  ‘Because I have seen you perform before, and while there was nothing lacking in your presentation tonight, that indefatigable sense of joy was definitely missing.’

  Her gaze remained fixed on the lake shimmering in the distance, her smooth brow unaccountably furrowed. ‘I’m sorry my performance did not live up to your expectations, Lord Valbourg.’

  ‘It did. You simply didn’t sparkle. Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her gaze fell. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t talk to you right now—’

  ‘Don’t apologise. Just tell me what’s wrong.’

  ‘I can’t. There’s nothing you can do.’

  ‘How do you know? If I can help in some way—’

  ‘You cannot.’ To his dismay, two tears broke free and rolled like liquid stars down her cheeks. ‘No one can.’

  She groaned softly and started to walk away, but Valbourg reached for her wrist. ‘Tell me what’s wrong, Catherine. Open that locked door and let me in. Because I can’t help feeling that the pain and unhappiness you’re experiencing now has something to do with what happened in your past.’

  She gazed up at him with a look Valbourg could only call fear, but when she closed her eyes and shook her head, he made a decision. ‘Stay here. I shall return in a moment.’

  He walked back into the drawing room and sought out his hostess.

  ‘Is something wrong, Valbourg?’ Lady Brocklehume asked.

  ‘I fear Miss Jones is not well. Is there somewhere she might be able to rest for a moment?’

  ‘Of course, poor dear. I thought she wasn’t looking quite the thing when she arrived. Take her upstairs to my private sitting room. She can stay there for as long as she likes. Shall I send up my maid?’

  ‘No, that’s fine. I’ll stay with her for a while,’ Valbourg said. Then, thanking his hostess, he went back out to the terrace to find Catherine where he’d left her, hands resting on the stone balustrade, her gaze still fixed on the distant view.

  ‘I have secured the use of Lady Brocklehume’s private sitting room,’ he told her. ‘And I will stay with you as long as you need.’

  ‘I don’t want to stay here,’ Catherine whispered, the sadness in her voice tearing at his heart. ‘I just want to go home.’

  ‘I know, but I’m not going to let you do that until you’ve told me what’s wrong. You don’t have to go through this alone, Catherine. Trust me with your secrets. Tell me why these men are watching you and who has this hold on you,’ he urged. ‘I’ve already said I will do everything I can to help, but I can’t do anything if you won’t let me in.’

  Catherine took a long, deep breath—but the stiffness in her body remained. ‘Very well, but there really is no point.’ She turned to face him, and it was not pain Valbourg saw in her eyes, but resignation. ‘Because when I tell you the truth, I doubt very much you will want to help me.’

  Chapter Six

  In the privacy of Lady Brocklehume’s sitting room, Catherine took a moment to gather her thoughts. She was relieved to be away from the chattering crowds and grateful to Valbourg for having arranged it, but even so, the weight pressing on her chest was suffocating.

  ‘Do you remember...in the carriage,’ she began, ‘when I said that the path of my future was dictated by the mistakes of my past?’

  ‘Yes. You also said you did not regret those mistakes.’

  ‘I don’t. Because they brought me something...someone...I love more than anything or anyone else in the world.’

  Valbourg’s eyebrows rose, but there was no recrimination in his voice when he said, ‘Tell me.’

  ‘His name is Thomas and he is five years old,’ Catherine said. ‘He is the reason I came to London five years ago. The reason I go up on stage every night. He is the reason I never took a lover and the reason I am here now.’ She turned to look at Valbourg, needing to see the impact her words were having. ‘He is my son. And I came here to get him and to take him back to London to live with me.’

  Stark silence greeted her words and, in a heartbeat, Catherine knew she had made a mistake. Valbourg wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the floor. But she could tell from the rigidness of his shoulders and the tension in his hands that everything had changed.

  ‘Am I to assume from your present unhappiness that something has happened to prevent you from taking...your son back to London?’

  His hesitation confirmed what she suspected, but it was too late to turn back or to try to undo the damage her confession had done. ‘His grandfather has refused to give him up.’

  ‘Grandfather?’ Valbourg’s head snapped up. ‘The boy lives with his grandparents?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your parents?’

  ‘No. His paternal grandfather and his second wife.’

  ‘And your husband is...?’

  ‘Dead.’ Catherine felt the heat rising in her face. ‘And he never was...my husband.’

  ‘I see.’

  The two words spoke volumes. Clearly Valbourg had filled in the parts of the story she had left out and put his own interpretation on the rest of it. ‘He did love me,’ Catherine said, wanting to make that clear. ‘Thomas’s father. And I loved him.’

  ‘But he didn’t marry you.’

  ‘He was killed before we had the chance,’ Catherine said. ‘But he told me he wanted to marry me and I believed him. It was the only reason I...the only reason that we—’

  ‘I understand,’ Valbourg said, sparing her the necessity of having to explain. He turned and walked towards the window. ‘Did you willingly give the child into his grandfather’s care?’

  ‘No. Reverend Hailey took Thomas from me.’

  ‘Reverend Hailey?’ Valbourg turned around. ‘His grandfather is a clergyman?’

  ‘Yes. I had gone home to show Thomas to them, hoping it might make relations between us better. Thomas’s father was Reverend Hailey’s only son and I wante
d him to know that we loved each other and that Thomas was a child of that love. But it didn’t work out that way,’ Catherine said, hearing the echo of defeat in her voice. ‘Reverend Hailey took Thomas from me, saying it was in my son’s best interests that he be raised by someone else.’

  ‘What were your circumstances at the time?’

  ‘I was seventeen and unmarried. When my father found out, he all but said I was a disgrace, so I left Grafton and went to stay with a friend of my late mother’s in Cheltenham. Thomas was born there. When he was a month old, I made the decision to go back to Grafton and show him to his grandfather. I thought it was...the right thing to do.’

  ‘But he took the child and told you to get out.’

  Catherine winced at the remoteness of his voice. ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I didn’t know what to do. Hailey was the local minister. I was an unwed mother. What power did I have against a man like that?’

  ‘It counted for nothing that Thomas was his dead son’s child?’

  ‘Reverend Hailey said that as much as he grieved for his son, it was God’s plan that Will be punished for his sins, as I was now being punished for mine.’

  ‘A man overflowing with God’s charity and forgiveness,’ Valbourg drawled. ‘What did his wife say? It was her grandson, too.’

  ‘Actually, it wasn’t. The present Mrs Hailey is the minister’s second wife. Will’s mother died not long after he did, but I know matters would have been very different had she lived,’ Catherine said. ‘She was a compassionate woman. Someone who cared deeply about her family.’

  Valbourg said nothing and Catherine felt the incredible awkwardness of the moment. But this was what he had asked for. He was the one who had forced this revelation. ‘So, now you know why I didn’t sparkle tonight,’ she said.

  ‘I understand that you have suffered a grave disappointment. And that you are struggling to come to terms with it. The question is...what are you going to do now?’