“Whatever is the matter, Catherine?” Lady Montrose queried in a troubled undertone. “You really must not frown so alarmingly until you are in the carriage!”
“Ah, Sir Harold has just proved himself a fool,” Hazelforth informed them helpfully. “He was so unwise as to question the worth of two Aberdeen terriers who shall remain nameless.”
“That was rash indeed,” ventured Eveline with a knowing smile, “for they have just lately shown their worth on the road from Sparrowell. They are a most courageous pair indeed.”
At that, Cat could not help but laugh, and she recounted for the group's entertainment the ludicrous episode which had taken place on their journey to London. “Yes, my vicious protectors cowered in the coach until that would-be highwayman had finally disappeared and instead crippled our supposed deliverer.”
Much to Cat's surprise, however, her tale was met more with expressions of concern and anger than amusement, at least from masculine quarters.
“Why was I not told of this at once?” Hazelforth demanded.
“I suppose because I did not imagine it concerned you,” Cat returned in some dismay. The memory of the episode had grown more humorous as time had passed and she had not at all anticipated this sort of reaction. Neither could she fathom this man who seemed at one minute to display a cold indifference, the next, concern and friendship, and now, an annoyingly proprietary air.
“I'll warrant there's a good deal more to this business than you guess,” Hazelforth continued, oblivious to her icy tone.
“Surely, Mr. Hazelforth,” Eveline observed, “it is no more than the fulfillment of a wager by some indolent gentlemen with more time than good sense. If you had seen them you would know they could not be serious. I grant you it was provoking, even frightening at first, but I doubt we were ever in any real danger.”
Here Mr. Sommers broke in earnestly, pushing his wayward lock back from his forehead, “You must humor our fears, however, ladies, and keep us informed if any further untoward incidents take place, regardless of how insignificant they may seem to you at the time. And certainly you must not even think of walking or driving without an escort. A footman is not sufficient. You must promise to call upon our services whenever you have need of them.”
“Indeed, I shall see that they do, gentlemen,” Lady Montrose agreed composedly. “You are probably very wise. But just imagine their not telling me such a diverting tale! I see I shall have to be much more diligent in my inquiries.” On hearing this remark, Cat and Eveline could but quake inwardly.
At this point, the music rose up once more and a group began to form a little country dance at one end of the room. Much to Hazelforth's marked annoyance, Cat's hand was eagerly sought by the aforementioned Mr. Abelwhite whose introduction had, after all, been unavoidable in a gathering so select.
To her mind, however, her new partner proved quite charming; he was not only rather handsome, but fawned on her every word, paying her many fine compliments. Cat was somewhat amused to note that the gentleman was exceedingly aware of his good looks, seeming to take advantage of every opportunity to display his very fine Grecian profile. Eveline's schooling had never before been put to such a test. Nevertheless, Cat was able to smile graciously at all of his foolishness and avoid the impulse to ridicule him as she might have done in other years.
How different his attentions were, she thought, from Mr. Hazelforth's brusque behavior. True, Mr. Abelwhite had been characterized as a rascal earlier that evening, and perhaps it was so, but at least he took some notice of her. Mr. Hazelforth had not even seemed to notice her lovely new gown, which she thought quite fine. And there that gentleman stood, she noted with rising irritation, scowling most disagreeably at them from the corner and looking as if his face would break.
“Miss Mansard,” her companion was saying with a quizzical look on his face, “your thoughts seem much preoccupied tonight. I asked if you had been enjoying your stay in London.”
“Oh, yes, indeed, although I have not yet had an opportunity to take advantage of all the city affords,” Cat admitted.
“Then you have not been to Vauxhall yet? You must allow me to escort you there soon. The gardens are truly exquisite! And the entertainment—there is really nothing equal to it. Lady Montrose and Miss Bartlett must join us, of course. We shall make a party of it. I am sure they will enjoy themselves immensely. Do say you'll come.” Mr. Abelwhite had by this time maneuvered her to the edge of the dance floor and was now holding her hand quite presumptuously.
“Why, I hardly know, Mr. Abelwhite …” The rather shocking reputation of those pleasure gardens had reached even the remote vicinity of Sparrowell Hall, and Cat hesitated for a moment, not knowing exactly how to extricate herself from this forward invitation. Just then, however, she caught sight of Hazelforth advancing in their direction looking exceedingly displeased. Suddenly piqued, Cat continued, “However, it does sound like a most diverting evening. Thank you so much for your kind offer. I am sure we shall all be charmed.” Surely there could be no harm in accepting, she decided, especially as the invitation included the others of her party.
The particulars of their proposed excursion had been agreed upon by the time Hazelforth reached them. Cat swept past him with a sweet smile as she returned to the floor with yet another partner, leaving Hazelforth to mutter rancorous invectives to himself about the impertinence of disagreeable upstarts.
Chapter Ten
The next day, Cat was much surprised to find that Mr. Abelwhite had called while she was out on her morning stroll, as well as several of her other partners from the previous evening. She was even more astounded late that afternoon when she was informed by one of the Birdies that Sir Harold Talbot was awaiting her pleasure in the drawing room. Still somewhat unnerved by his odious pronouncements on dog training, she repressed a thoroughly unladylike groan. Quickly checking her toilette, however, she steeled herself to face his annoying presumption and made her way down the stairs, hoping his call would be a brief one.
“Ah, Miss Mansard,” he greeted her heartily from the depths of an overstuffed chair. “You will forgive me if I do not rise. The gout, you see.”
“Indeed, Sir Harold, pray, do not discommode yourself,” she told him as she entered, remembering to leave the door well ajar. Cat seated herself and exchanged a few pleasantries with the gentleman. Then, a stony silence reigned. Given his loquaciousness on the prior evening, she was at something of a loss. To hide her discomfiture, she began to stitch at a piece of Eveline's fancy-work in a frame by the fireplace. Making even more of a muddle of the threads than was her habit, Cat felt a little guilty knowing that her friend must very likely duplicate several hours of work as a result of her meddling. When she looked up from this hapless undertaking, however, she was unnerved to see Sir Harold now staring quite boldly at her bosom. Worse, yet, when he encountered her shocked expression, he merely smiled.
Unable to bear more of his silent scrutiny, she blushed and endeavored to begin a conversation, “In this fine weather I imagine you must find your impairment most taxing, Sir Harold. Surely the call of the hunt must be beckoning to you.”
“Quite so, Miss Mansard, quite so. But one has other considerations. Health, of course, and, ahem, social affairs.” That little speech seemed to have taxed his conversational repertoire, and in the silence that followed, he returned to his silent contemplation of her physical attributes.
“Do tell me about your hounds,” she ventured at last, desperate to turn his attention. Cat had, quite naturally, little desire to hear more of those creatures against whom her own darlings had been so disagreeably compared on the previous evening. She was, however, gratified to find that the introduction of this favorite subject at last unlocked Sir Harold's tongue, and the gentleman waxed poetic on the relative virtues of various breeds for a good twenty minutes or more.
“There is no finer beast in all of England than my Ruffian, I'll be bound, Miss Mansard. And I wager he would make short work of your dan
dified pair, had he the chance.” As if on cue, Caesar and Brutus chose just that moment to bound into the drawing room. Finding an unexpected visitor, they were at once their sociable, if vexatious, selves, and were soon dancing circles about Sir Harold, begging to be made much over.
“Away from me, you scoundrels!” Sir Harold shouted aghast. “Watch my foot, I say!”
In a furious attempt to protect himself, Sir Harold made the fatal error of striking at the determined dogs with his walking stick. This action had little effect, of course, but to excite the pair further; Cat, however, who was much incensed at Sir Harold's bad-tempered aggression as well as his blatant ogling, had had quite enough.
Surreptitiously she took a ball of silk from the work basket beside her and tossed it with deadly aim in the direction of Sir Harold's tender foot. Caesar and Brutus leaped into the air for it—for “fetch the ball” as their mistress well knew was their favorite game—and landed directly and excruciatingly on Sir Harold's throbbing appendage.
“Damn and blast!” he cried out with an enormous yelp.
“Sir Harold, you make me blush!” exclaimed Cat, whose color was indeed heightened, but more from suppressed laughter than from offense at his language.
“Beg pardon, Miss Mansard,” he managed to wince gracelessly. “If you don't mind, could you spare yourself the trouble to ring for a footman? I shall need to be helped to my carriage it seems. I'd keep a sharp eye on those beasts if I were you. What they need is a sound whipping, if you ask me.”
“Indeed, Sir Harold,” Cat returned in innocent tones, “I shall see that their efforts do not go unanswered. Now here is Matey to see you out. Good day.”
When Charles Hazelforth called some minutes later, he discovered Cat still praising the little dogs and feeding them biscuits.
“Was that Sir Harold Talbot leaving just now? You must have made quite a favorable impression last night for him to have bestirred himself.”
“I trust I was able to clarify that impression this afternoon,” Cat remarked as she caught the dogs up in her arms and kissed each of them on top of the head.
“He did look somewhat disconcerted as he drove off. What was the matter?”
“Oh, I believe he was in some pain,” Cat allowed innocently as she broke an iced cake into pieces for her little darlings. “Sir Harold suffers terribly from the gout, you know.”
“And so shall those dogs if their diets are not amended before long. City life does them little good, that much I can see. I called to see if you and these fat fellows would join me for a stroll. They look as if some exercise would do them no harm.” Bending down to their level, he addressed them, “What do you say fellows? A walk?”
“Now that is hardly fair, Mr. Hazelforth,” Cat scolded him as Caesar and Brutus threw themselves at once into a whirling frenzy. “You know very well that 'walk' is one of the two or three words they recognize. I shall thank you very much not to say T-R-E-A-T in front of them, or we shall be forced to take our walk in the pantry!”
****
As they strolled through the park's shaded lanes, Caesar and Brutus panting and tugging furiously at their leads, Hazelforth asked, “Now what of Sir Harold? What was the purpose of his call?”
“Why, Mr. Hazelforth, I can only assume he called in order to further acquaint himself with my charms. That was the general idea of my introduction to him, was it not?” Cat asked archly.
“I have had second thoughts, Miss Catherine,” Hazelforth admitted gruffly. “I am not at all sure he is the proper gentleman for you.”
“Why ever not, Mr. Hazelforth?” Cat asked with pointed innocence. “By your own admission, he is a single man of good fortune and character. What else should a woman desire in a man?”
“Nothing whatever,” Hazelforth snapped irritably, “although I must say he did not appear to have left in a very romantic frame of mind. Or do all of your smitten callers exit swearing like sailors?”
Cat at last relented and recounted the highlights of Sir Harold's abbreviated visit, concluding with his painful encounter with the very creatures whose vitality he had questioned. Hazelforth at last seemed somewhat more at ease, and he laughed appreciatively.
“So his admiration is, I fear, to be short-lived,” Cat allowed, “for I believe Caesar and Brutus will have destroyed any sort of interest he might have entertained. But it is all the better for the association to have been brief. You are, of course, quite correct in your assessment: Sir Harold and I would never suit. I wonder you should have thought of it at all.”
“However true that may be, I suspect you have not seen the last of Sir Harold, in spite of the considerable hazards a continued courtship may portend for his much-abused foot. I fear he is not one to bestow his romantic attentions lightly, Miss Catherine.”
“But surely,” she protested, “he must see how little we have in common?”
“Come, sit here, and I shall explain,” he directed, leading her to a little bench. When he had secured the dogs' leads to it, he continued, “Perhaps as far as tastes and sentiments are concerned, this would indeed seem an odd match. But those niceties mean little in society, and certainly less to a man like Sir Harold. To his way of thinking, you and he are perfectly suited, amazing as that may seem. He was widowed before an heir could be produced, and you are young. He still hopes to expand his holdings, and Sparrowell Hall is a tempting piece of property. What's more, however little interest you may have in the hunt, that sport constitutes Sir Harold's most important reason for living—and the environs of Sparrowell, as you know, are unsurpassed for that pursuit.”
“Drat the man,” Cat fumed in consternation, forgetting entirely the polite simulations she had practiced. “However much my grandmother's well-meaning designs may have intruded on my expectations, such an alliance was not her intention nor is it mine.”
“Come, come, Miss Catherine. Is not marriage a business arrangement for the vast number of souls who embark on it? Those who look for more ask a great deal.”
“I do ask it,” she declared, “and I shall have it. I refuse to be a mere commodity.”
“Perhaps it shall not come to that, Miss Catherine,” he said quietly after a moment. “There may be those who have been overlooked.”
“Indeed there might,” she admitted. She turned to Hazelforth, who was looking at her pensively. If only he were not so committed to his bachelorhood, she felt almost certain that she could love him. Their interests, humor, and sentiments seemed so compatible at times. But no, this was the man who was so anxiously seeking partners for her. Certainly, he had thrown himself into that mission with, if not enthusiasm, at least a businesslike practicality. It would be altogether too humiliating if he were to recognize her inclination for him.
For his part, Hazelforth regarded himself and his mixed emotions with equal consternation. He had never even fleetingly contemplated marriage, and never, since the days of his callow youth, imagined himself to be in love. Certainly, if the general mediocrity of each Season's debutantes were not enough, society offered sufficient examples of disastrous alliances to warn off any man of sense. And yet, here he was, acting suspiciously like a jealous schoolboy. The most practical thing to do, of course, was to find her a husband at once—if only he could overcome the anger that rose up in him whenever he saw her with another gentleman.
“It seems I do have another prospect. Mr. Abelwhite escorts me to Vauxhall next week,” Cat went on, interrupting his musings. “He seems to me quite a likely sort, in spite of all your cautions.”
“That rake!” Hazelforth protested. “You will do no such thing, Miss Catherine.”
“I assure you, I shall do just as I please, Mr. Hazelforth! You are no relation of mine that you can command me in any way. Besides, the introduction you offered me turned out to be such a dismal prospect, I have determined to form my own alliances. Now, whatever are these two fussing about?” she broke off, for Caesar and Brutus were indeed barking wildly and pulling at their leads as a familiar
-looking gentleman leaning on a walking stick tried unsuccessfully to escape their attention. Cat recognized him at once as her would-be savior from the preposterous highwayman.
“Ah, Miss Mansard, so good to see you again,” he mumbled, bowing awkwardly when he realized he had been recognized. “Geoffrey D'Ashley at your service, once more.”
“Mr. D'Ashley! This is indeed a surprise and a coincidence. Allow me to present Mr. Charles Hazelforth. You remember my speaking of Mr. D'Ashley, do you not? This is the gentleman whose very valiant, if belated, efforts put our poor highwayman to flight,” Cat said with an admirably straight face.
“I do indeed, Miss Catherine,” Hazelforth returned, looking at D'Ashley as if he were some new sort of stinging insect which bore watching. “And surely, Mr. D'Ashley, you must remember Caesar and Brutus here, your partners in this daring rescue.”
Mr. D'Ashley, they noted, was eyeing the enthusiastic pair with some marked wariness.
“How do you mend, Mr. D'Ashley?” Cat asked with all the appearance of solicitude.
“Remarkably well, I am happy to say,” he returned, sounding anything but happy. “And you, Miss Mansard? I trust you have not fallen prey to any disorder of the nerves as a result of that unhappy encounter.”
“I, too, have recovered remarkably,” Cat told him with an amiable smile. Then looking willfully at Hazelforth, she continued, “Indeed, you must soon wait on me at Montrose House. I am certain my godmother would be grateful for an opportunity to thank you herself for your part in our delivery.”
Mr. D'Ashley, looking somewhat nonplussed at this attention, bowed once again by way of answer and Hazelforth, now quite red in the face with vexation, seized the canines' leads and, taking brusque leave of their acquaintance, firmly guided Cat down the path and through the park the way that they had come.
An Impetuous Miss Page 9