“She will,” Sidney said.
A blast of frigid air assaulted them on the front steps. Jerry had brought the coach around again. “We’ll ride to the Park,” Sidney said. “No sense in freezing until absolutely necessary.”
The inside of the coach was not much warmer, but cozier once the door shut out the wind. Six boxes rested on the seat across from them, tied together with twine.
“Won’t you please allow me to repay you?” Catherine asked, making one more attempt.
Sidney gave her a mock stern look. “That subject is closed, Miss Rayborn.”
She smiled and braced herself for the slight jolt of the horses setting out. “You have a lovely family.”
“Yes.” He glanced through the window at the house. “Mind you, those were our company manners, but we do get on much better now than before. I’ve asked Henry to start looking for another house. I expect they’ll stay in Belgravia, with Mother so timid over new situations.”
“They don’t mind being asked to leave?”
“Of course not. They’ve always been aware that one day I would—” He checked himself abruptly, looking pained as if he had caught himself in a slip. Then he sighed and reached for her hands. “Blast it, Catherine, it has to be twenty-five degrees out there. I’m afraid comfort is beginning to look more appealing than sentiment.”
“What is it, Sidney?” she said, barely daring to breathe because she so hoped her suspicion over what was coming next was correct.
He smiled. “I realized I’m required to get down on one knee, but I’ll get motion sickness if I do. And I can’t very well ask your father for your hand, with the situation as it is. But all that aside, will you pay me the honor of becoming my wife?”
As prepared as she thought she was, Catherine was still caught by a great rush of lightheadedness. “I will, Sidney.”
“You’ve made me very happy, Catherine,” he said, and leaned closer to gather her into his arms. The kiss was long and gentle and tasted of coffee—though not unpleasantly. “Oh, I’m forgetting something.” Grinning, he sat back a bit and withdrew a black satin pouch from his coat pocket. He untied the strings and brought out a ring, an oval diamond set into a gold band, and circled by tiny amethysts. “It was my great-grandmother’s on my father’s side,” he said. “My mother wore it too, and passed it on to me when she married Henry.”
“Oh, Sidney,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.” She pulled the glove from her left hand and extended her fingers. The ring slid easily—too easily—over the third one.
“We’ll have to have it tightened,” Sidney said, holding her fingertips.
“Oh, but we can’t cut into an heirloom.”
“It won’t even be noticeable. A jewelsmith on Cheapside does excellent work. I had them make my ring.” He fished down between the buttons of his topcoat, brought out his watch, and clicked it open. “Only half-past three. Have we time?”
“We have,” Catherine told him. They held hands and waited for the coach to halt on Grosvenor Place at the entrance to Green Park. Sidney opened the door before Jerry could hop down.
“On to Howe’s in Cheapside, Jerry,” he said affably, then turned to Catherine with a smile that said, See? I don’t abuse my servants.
Catherine returned his smile. But as the first wave of romance settled into particulars, she realized that the ring was the least of their problems. “Oh dear,” she said. “Sidney, I can’t tell my family.”
“I thought as much,” he said with grim expression. “But I didn’t want to be the one to say it.”
The idea shook her world, coming on the heels of such bliss. Not have Mother and Father and Jewel sitting in the front pew of a church, smiling and giving their blessing?
She shook her head. “There has to be a way.”
“I wish there were. But I’ve had longer to think this over than you.”
Desperately she grasped for straws. “We could keep our engagement secret until summer, when you would come down to Bombay on the P & O and meet them. They wouldn’t have time to write Sarah and William. We could have the ceremony at Saint Thomas’s.”
“And what reason would we give them for the secrecy? You’ve said that your father is overly protective. You think he would just hand you over to me like that?”
“I don’t know!”
He gave her a sad smile, touched her cheek. “I’m sorry it has to be this way, Catherine. But once we’re husband and wife, your family will have no choice but to allow me the chance to prove that I’ll treat you with utmost decency.”
Husband and wife, she thought. Lady Catherine Holt. The situation would be tense for a little while, but as he said, her parents would eventually give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Mother and Father had married against the wishes of Grandfather and Grandmother Lorimer, and their marriage was certainly a success.
“When should we marry?” she asked at the risk of sounding forward. He’s your fiancé! she had to remind herself.
He took her hands again. “You’re not tempted to change your mind?”
“Never,” she replied.
The affection in his blue eyes was so precious that Catherine wished she could marry him this instant. Still, it was a shock when he smiled and said, “The twenty-seventh of March.”
“Three months?”
“Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not,” she assured him.
It would be the day after she returned to London for Easter vacation. He explained that he would meet her train with arrangements for a place for her to spend the night, or she could ask to stay with Peggy if she so wished.
“Your relations won’t be showing up at King’s Cross, will they?”
She thought a second and shook her head. “I always write to let them know which morning I’ll be leaving Girton. I’ll simply tell them two days later. Then I’ll wire them after the wedding, when I wire my parents.”
Her family would be hurt, of course, but as much as she loved them, she could not trade her future happiness for their approval.
They would have a small ceremony just for family at his mother’s church, Saint Peter’s, Sidney told her. By then, his mother and stepfather would have moved into another house. “Or surely by the time we return from the honeymoon.”
He had even thought that part out too. “We’ll tour Egypt. I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids. And then we’ll continue on to Bombay, where I promise you, I will do everything I can to endear myself to your family.”
Sometime before they reached the jeweler’s, Catherine realized that her Girton days would conclude after the upcoming Hillary Term. The thought was not distressing, for a person could only travel one path at a time, and how could any path be better than spending a lifetime with Sidney?
As for her desire to teach, she told herself that every little girl wanted to be a schoolmistress at some time in her life. Even Jewel pretended to teach her dolls at age four or five. But it was time to exchange that childhood dream for a happier reality.
Rows of shop-fronts on Cheapside displayed glittering watches, necklaces and rings, bracelets and brooches, and bales of silver spoons and forks. The jewelsmith at Howe’s was a small man with soft voice and squinting eyes. He measured Catherine’s finger and the ring. “Lovely heirloom,” he said, holding it up so the gasolier reflected its facets. “We can have it ready by the twenty-seventh.”
“That’s after Christmas,” Sidney told him, and nodded toward a placard on the wall behind the counter. “That says you can make repairs within two days.”
“Yes, Sir,” the man said with an apologetic bob of the head. “Could have it done that soon, if not for the season. But we’re flooded—”
“And yet your sign is still up.”
“Well, yes—”
“Then I’ll take the two days, thank you.”
The man blinked at him. “But you see, Sir—”
“Lord Holt,” Sidney corrected quietly.
“Ye
s . . . ah . . . Lord Holt.” The jewelsmith’s eyes faded, as if he could not quite find his place in the whole conversation. “You see, several patrons have—”
“Your other patrons do not interest me,” Sidney cut in. This time there was an edge to his voice.
“Sidney.” Catherine touched his coat sleeve. “I don’t mind waiting.” I won’t be able to wear it in public anyway.
He shrugged his arm away and placed both palms upon the counter, leaning forward a fraction. “I don’t think you quite understand. My father was a barrister, and several of my friends are attorneys. So I know a bit about the law. If you do not wish to be sued for false advertising, you will have the ring ready on Friday afternoon.”
The jewelsmith turned beseeching eyes to Catherine. She gave him a helpless look.
“Do we understand each other, Sir?” Sidney said.
“Yes, Sir . . . I mean, yes, Lord Holt,” the man replied, hands visibly shaking.
“There you are, good fellow,” Sidney said with gentle tone, and somehow that was worse than if he had yelled. He turned for the door. This time Catherine could not bear to look at the jewelsmith. She could feel the poor little man’s eyes upon her back as she followed her fiancé out of the shop.
“Never contradict me in public, Catherine,” Sidney said in the coach, staring straight ahead.
Protests surged to her lips, and she swallowed them with difficulty. She could tell by the set of his jaw that it would only annoy him. He didn’t really mean that, she consoled herself. The Sidney she knew and loved, the Sidney who would soon be her husband, treated her like a queen almost every second that they were together.
Even when they weren’t together. Weren’t the parcels resting upon the seat across from them proof of that?
“I’m sorry, Sidney,” she said.
He nodded, blue eyes cold upon her. “Very well.”
This time it was he who turned to the window. Uneasiness lay between them like a spiky hedge. Catherine fought back tears by promising herself that when a calmer time came, or perhaps after they were married and their love had grown even stronger, she would explain to him how sometimes his words hurt her.
“I had no idea,” he said, taking her in his arms and pressing her head gently against his comforting shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”
“I was afraid you wouldn’t love me anymore,” she confessed.
“Oh, my dearest Catherine. That will never happen as long as I draw breath.”
“ . . . as Highgate.”
She blinked at Sidney. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, we’ll deliver you as far as Highgate. Then you’ve only to take a cab for a half mile or so.”
This has been an anxious day for him, she reminded herself, what with his planning to propose, and their having to keep the engagement a secret. Warily, she said, “Thank you, Sidney.”
He actually smiled. “Purely selfish of me. I want to spend every minute with you that I can. Which reminds me . . . when will we see each other again?”
She had to think. It would not be wise to leave the house for any extended period of time before Boxing Day, five days away. But after that, surely returning today with packages would have purchased some freedom. She just needed an excuse as good as today’s.
“Just give me a ring when you can find some privacy,” he said at length. “This time, I’ll be sure Rumfellow either takes the message or fetches me. I’ll tell the same to Mother.”
Catherine’s pulse jumped. “Your mother?”
“She has this annoying habit of answering the telephone now and again. But you needn’t feel awkward should it happen.”
She nodded, knowing that every nerve in her body would feel awkward. But she could think of no other way. That brought something else to mind. “When will you tell your family?”
He smiled. “Soon.”
****
And it will come as no surprise, Sidney thought. His mother’s was the only approval that mattered, and that was assured. Hadn’t she lectured him for years about settling down with a decent woman? But he could not make the announcement with Catherine present, because Mother and Henry would ask innocent enough questions pertaining to her family’s part in the wedding plans. He needed to warn them ahead of time that this was not a comfortable topic of discussion for her.
His second reason was just as compelling. While Mother surely suspected he was no choirboy during his Oxford years, she had no concrete proof of his misbehaviors. And so for her sake, he had to base the cause for secrecy only on Catherine’s relations believing the rumors about Leona and him. But that was not something he wished to discuss in Catherine’s presence, even though he strongly suspected Mrs. Doyle had told her of the affair. He assumed the Doyles had learned of it during negotiations over the house, for they did not rub elbows with London’s high society, in spite of their wealth.
Jerry reined the team to a stop directly behind an idle coach for hire on Highgate. “Fetch the packages,” Sidney called while escorting Catherine to the other coach.
Once the packages were transferred and he had dropped some coins into the cabby’s palm, he leaned into the doorway to say farewell. Catherine looked so becoming with the corners of her mouth tucked into little semicircles, the high color in her cheeks, and long hair tousled about the collar of her cloak. Only months ago he would never have considered marrying a woman who could not bring a dowry to their union. Having a good stable life mattered more now.
And who could tell? He knew by the way she spoke of them that her parents cared for their daughter a great deal. Perhaps once they warmed up to him, they would offer a belated dowry from the mother’s inheritance. And at least there was the legacy from her grandparents to help maintain the household and her wardrobe and such, leaving him free to continue investing.
“I’ll be counting the hours,” he said.
“I’ll miss you too.” Her smile faltered. “You’re giving me that lovely ring, and I have nothing for you.”
“Not so,” he corrected, and reached forward to tug a lock of her chestnut hair. “You’ve made a decent man of me.”
Twenty-Nine
As Highgate’s shops passed by her window, Sidney’s parting words echoed through Catherine’s mind. Incredible, that after his twenty-eight years of life experiences, he would credit her, a sheltered nineteen-year-old, with sparking his desire to turn over a new leaf. Already she missed him terribly!
But as 5 Cannonhall Road came into view, she was relieved that they had not tarried longer, for her watch showed ten-past five, almost an hour earlier than she was expected. That would surely earn her some grace points, should any suspicions linger in Sarah’s mind.
That thought led abruptly to another. She had not informed Peggy that she was to be her alibi, simply because Peggy would become angry at being asked to be involved in any deception, and possibly even refuse. She would have no reason to ring here today, not after our seeing each other yesterday. Then she remembered the chemistry periodicals William and Sarah had given her. What if she decided to thank them again? If she did, she would write a note. Wouldn’t she?
Mr. Duffy was hanging a garland of evergreen boughs around the front door. He walked out to the carriage drive to take the bundle of packages. When Catherine opened her reticule the cabby waved a hand. “Already bin paid, Miss.”
Sidney . . . she thought, smiling.
“Yes, Miss.” The cabby shook his head in mock wonder. “Paid me right down to the farthing, he did. Got to admire a man who’s so precise.”
Catherine’s pulse jumped. She glanced at Mr. Duffy and received a blank look in return. “My friend’s father,” she explained. “Mr. Somerset. Must have used up all his change.”
She fished out a half crown, far more than the short drive warranted, and handed it over.
“Thank you, Miss!” the cabby exclaimed. “And Merry Christmas to you!”
“You’re welcome.” As the cabby took the reins agai
n, Catherine sent another look to Mr. Duffy, who grinned above the parcels in his great arms.
“Did y’leave anything in the shops, Miss Rayborn?”
She smiled, tension easing out of her. “I may have left a little, Mr. Duffy.”
He chuckled as if she had told the wittiest of jokes, and relief made her so giddy that she joined in. At the door the gardener raised a knee to balance his burden and attempted to ease a hand toward the knob. Catherine waved him aside and turned the knob, holding the door open for him and closing it after he crossed the threshold. The seldom-used great hall had been transformed in her absence. Holly and mistletoe boughs wreathed the fireplace and draped the banister all the way to the landing. Red satin ribbons hung from every second railing. Red candles in lamp globes, decorated at the base with holly sprigs, waited to be lit on the chimneypiece and entrance table and piano, which had been moved from the parlor. Empty silver serving trays, tea service, and punch bowls gleamed under the reflection of the gasolier above the long table.
Mrs. Bacon, Claire, and Marie stood near that table with expressions decidedly less cheerful than their surroundings. “Good afternoon, Miss Rayborn,” Mrs. Bacon said.
“Good afternoon,” Catherine replied.
“What happened?” Mr. Duffy asked.
Marie scowled at the bundle in Mrs. Bacon’s arms, which turned out to be Hector, studying Catherine through half-closed lids. “I walked in here just in time to see this animal prancing across the trays like a ballerine!”
“There are paw prints over everything,” Mrs. Bacon said.
“Well, there’s nothing to do but wash them,” Claire sighed, picking up a tray. “At least we have time.”
“Madame is not yet ready to dress,” Marie said. “I will help you carry them to the kitchen. Just shut that beast up in a room somewhere.”
The two other maids gaped at her. Even Catherine took pause, for as Sarah’s lady’s maid, Marie did not perform household chores beyond tidying Sarah and William’s bedchamber.
“But you don’t do that sort of—” Mr. Duffy said, but checked himself when his wife sent him a sharp look.
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