“That will be the least of your worries, Miss Catherine. I have spoken with that person today and convinced him that a year spent on the continent would be best for his health. I have just made certain that he was aboard the ship when it sailed,”
“Why, Mr. Hazelforth! How did this …?”
“Please, Miss Catherine, think no more on that unfortunate encounter and do not berate yourself for your conduct. Your attack on that scoundrel was as well deserved as it was well aimed. You should be happy to know that your fan will be more easily set to rights than a certain swollen proboscis. Remind me never to offend you, my dear,” he smiled at her.
“Oh, do not tease me, Mr. Hazelforth!” Cat remonstrated. “Besides, I am much afraid that my little ivory fan, which was a favorite, by the way, is scattered about in several pieces on a certain path at Vauxhall. Do let us speak of something else.”
“Very well,” he went on in a grim tone. “I understand another ardent suitor has not been so strikingly rejected. Sir Harold Talbot is sounding it about that you have all but accepted his suit.”
“Sir Harold Talbot indeed!” Cat stormed. “The audacity of that tedious man has very nearly undone me. I cannot think how you ever came to set him in my path. Whatever possesses him?”
“The notion of possessing you, I should imagine. You are a fine quarry for a huntsman who fancies himself an exceptional catch as well. May I assume you do not intend to accept him?”
“You may indeed! Oh, Mr. Hazelforth, whatever am I to do? I comprehend the Season is still young, but I have yet to attract the attention of a man whose presence is not a punishment.”
“Now, be truthful, Miss Catherine. Several times I have called to find my own card preceded by those of quite acceptable young men. They are not all Henry Abelwhites and Sir Harold Talbots. It seems that you contrive to be conveniently absent during the hours traditionally reserved for such calls. What is it you want?”
Cat looked at Hazelforth in the moonlight and felt her throat tighten. At last, she admitted to herself what her heart had known since the first: she loved a man who was beyond her grasp, a man would never be hers. “I want what I cannot have,” she whispered.
“Is your independence so precious to you then?” he asked in an unreadable tone.
Of course that was what he would think, she told herself, and what he must continue to think.
Gathering herself, she replied with forced nonchalance, “You yourself must admit that the prospect of sharing one's life is not to be contemplated lightly, Mr. Hazelforth. You must concede that you have clearly valued your own independence. My decision has been taken away from me, but what would tempt you to cast your liberty aside?”
“What indeed?” he echoed softly, searching his heart for an answer.
Chapter Thirteen
Cat awakened from a troubled sleep and remained in bed contemplating her misfortunes as she sipped her cocoa. She seemed to be pursued only by those whom she wished to flee, and the man she loved was one she was too proud to pursue. It was all too unfair and too confusing. This reverie, however, was interrupted by Felicia.
“It's that Sir Harold Talbot downstairs, Miss Cat. I told him to come back later, but he vows he'll stay right where he is until he sees you.”
Cat stretched and groaned in a decidedly bad humor. “Drat the man. I don't know whether to let him cool his heels for an hour or two or dispatch this wretched business speedily.” As it was, Sir Harold was forced to wait a good hour before Cat completed her toilette and proceeded reluctantly down the stairs to face him.
“What's this? Sleeping half the day away, my dear Catherine?” he chided her by way of greeting. “That shall all change when we are established at Sparrowell, my dear, as shall some other things I have been contemplating since yesterday. I have been engaged in some investigation, and I am sorry to say I find your affairs to be in a shockingly sorry state.”
“Do you indeed?” she remarked in a dangerously calm voice. Had Cat been more generously disposed toward Sir Harold, she would have stopped him at once, but an admittedly unkind curiosity prodded her to discover exactly what visions of reform she would shortly be destroying. Sir Harold had by this time taken yet another list from his waistcoat pocket and immediately commenced to tick off a number of items of concern.
“Now first, what's this about providing medical services for your tenants? Preposterous! A good epidemic now and again weeds out the bad stock. And a school for the village children? Not only expensive, my dear, but unwise as well. Gives them ideas, it does. Take a lesson from the Frenchies. Their leniency cost more than a few heads—not that a few thousand frogs more or less makes much difference to us. Now about those pampered mutts of yours, I shall undertake their discipline and retraining personally and shall immediately begin …”
At the introduction of this sensitive subject, Cat decided that she had heard quite enough for one day. “If you please. Sir Harold …” she began sharply.
“Eh, what's that?” he interrupted, looking up from his notes. “Ah, you want another proposal do you? Very well, but I shan't get down on my knees again, so you'll have to take me standing up.”
“I should not have you if you stood on your head, Sir Harold!” she cried, much put out. “I have never heard such a bold, impertinent, noxious speech in all my life. Now you may fetch your own hat and walking stick and show yourself out, for I’ll have none of my servants playing fetch for you. Good day, sir!”
Sir Harold regarded her for a moment in silent dismay before he turned to go. Whatever had he done to put her into such a pet? he wondered. Truly, there were no understanding females. Give him a good hound any day. Just before he exited, however, he turned and asked hopefully, “Not just being coy, eh, Miss Catherine?”
By way of answer, Cat seized a handy piece of bric-a-brac and hurled it furiously in his direction. As it smashed against the wall, Sir Harold made a hasty escape with amazing dexterity, considering his impairment. He had not been more than a few seconds absent, however, when Mr. Hazelforth appeared in the doorway, looking backward over his shoulder with clear amusement.
“I say, Miss Catherine,” he began, as he made his way into the room, “is it your intent to maim all of your suitors before the end of the Season? If so, I feel it only fair to post a warning to that effect in front of Montrose House.”
“Mr. Hazelforth, kindly refrain from vexing me further,” she entreated him. “My patience has already been much tested, and the day is yet young.”
“Believe me,” he responded with a short laugh, “I value my good health too highly to test your temper further. However, I am here to see Lady Montrose this morning. Where might I find her?”
“I believe she is still in the morning room,” Cat returned, somewhat disconcerted.
“Do not trouble yourself. I know the way.”
****
“Well, Hazelforth,” Lady Montrose greeted him, looking up from her game of patience. “I assume from the sound of broken glass I heard a moment ago that our heartless Catherine has sent poor Sir Harold packing. Is that a wise thing do you think? He is the only one to come up to scratch thus far.”
Hazelforth looked narrowly at his old friend, trying to read her expression. As usual, it proved to be an impossible task. “I imagine,” he said at last, “that she will have many other offers this Season.”
“And will you wish her joy when she finally accepts one?” Lady Montrose asked him pointedly.
“I have and shall always wish her joy,” he mumbled, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and looking out the window into the garden.
“You are a fool, Charles,” Lady Montrose said quietly.
Hazelforth turned and looked at her sharply.
“In fact, I am much afraid you are both fools,” she continued, slowly turning each card. “Happiness is crying at your doors, and you stop your stubborn ears.”
Hazelforth turned away from her again. For all of his recent daydreaming, it was time to
face the cold truth. The only happiness he had ever found had come of avoiding marriage like the plague. He had seen too much sorrow there, too much cynicism, too much calculation. He had committed himself instead to safe friendships, lighthearted flirtations, and he had no need of anything else. Until Cat Mansard had come along. She had turned his safe little world upside down.
In spite of her headstrong ways, he admired Cat, and, yes, liked her a great deal. Damn it! he swore inwardly. He had to face it: he had come to love her to distraction over the past few weeks. He and Sommers had joked often enough about the nonexistent woman of perfection, and now he found himself utterly charmed by this creature of a thousand faults. And he had, in spite of the warnings of his better judgment, fantasized about a marriage to her. A marriage like those one read of in books: a marriage that did not and could not exist. He knew his mixed feelings had caused his behavior toward her to be erratic and probably confusing, but, curse it all, so had hers.
When he at last turned again to face Lady Montrose, her expression was so significant, it was as if she had been reading his mind. “I know well enough your feelings about marriage and I know as well how and why they were formed. Marriage is not for the faint of heart, Charles, but I had never before supposed that courage was lacking in you. Nevertheless, here you stand quaking before love and denying it. But ask yourself, in all honor, could you bear to see her united with someone who would crush her fine spirit? One who would marry her for reasons of estate and fortune? The question is, Charles,” she said in a stern voice, “can you bear to see her marry anyone else at all?”
****
Had Cat known the import of Hazelforth's closely closeted interview with Lady Montrose she would indeed have felt that lady's prior encroachments on her privacy but a trifling matter. When the two emerged from the morning room some three quarters of an hour later, however, their demeanors held no suggestion of what had passed between them. Hazelforth took his leave brusquely and Lady Montrose launched into a sudden discussion of the upcoming costume ball.
“You have shown distressingly little interest in our plans, Catherine, and I am sure that poor little Cecily quite takes it to heart. She had planned, of course, for this little entertainment to divert you from your predicament.”
“I am sorry, Lady Mouse. I know you both mean well. It's just that the prospect of yet another night's entertainment, another night of 'Fancy that' and 'Indeed, I'm charmed' shall surely be the death of me. I confess I had much rather spend a quiet evening with the characters of some new novel than encounter those who inhabit the mundane surroundings of the social realm.”
“Why, Cat,” Lady Montrose remonstrated, “surely you value at least my judgment better than that. You have not yet seen the guest list, have you? Would it pique your interest to find that not a one of them is received at Almack's? Do not look so shocked, Cat. You know these people well, although, I confess they have probably never heard of you. Indeed, you hold in your hands a novel just lately published by one of them.”
“Lady Mouse! No, really?” Cat exclaimed excitedly.
“Yes, it is to be a literary and artistic evening. Out of concern for the propriety you must maintain, they shall, of course, arrive masked, but I hope the evening's conversation will be diverting. Now, as for your costume ...”
“Oh dear,” Cat moaned contritely, “I have not given it a thought.”
“Fortunately, I have. I have been through my trunks and found the very thing. Miss Spencer will fit it to your measurements in good time.”
“Do tell me what it is,” Cat entreated, her enthusiasm growing now.
“That shall be a secret until next Saturday night. Just trust me that it will suit your needs quite well.”
In the days that followed, Cat found her excitement about the upcoming costume ball outweighed the annoyance of the social engagements she was forced to keep each night. She had long since abandoned the notion of looking seriously for a husband at these functions but was determined to simply fulfill the letter of her grandmother's will for this Season, in any event. Her feelings for Hazelforth continued to torment her, but at least the prospect of the costume ball afforded something pleasant upon which to focus her attention.
She now spent the greater part of each day with Cecily and Lady Montrose in preparation for the festivities. Eveline's time was much engaged with Mr. Sommers' attentions, and it was now clear, even to Cat, that he would soon make an offer. Sadly, she reflected, their newfound companionship would be at an end. Whom she would ever find to replace such an ideal companion, Cat was at a loss to tell.
Chapter Fourteen
On the morning of the costume ball, Cat awakened early to the sounds of feverish preparation. She quickly dressed and went downstairs to find the various Birdies and Mateys, as she, too, had taken to calling them, busily engaged in draping the entire downstairs with swaths of deep blue velvet.
“Beg pardon, miss,” one of the footmen apologized as a heavy bolt of fabric rolled past her toes, “you'll be safer in the conservatory if you don't want to be gathered up in the drapings here.”
Cat threaded her way through the bustling hallways to the conservatory where Lady Montrose and Eveline sat sipping their morning tea.
“Good morning, Cat,” Lady Montrose greeted her. “Isn't this a glorious uproar? I am sorry, dear, but I have had to send Caesar and Brutus down to the kitchen. They were so downcast, poor little things — I know they'd dearly love to wreak some havoc here.”
Cat assured her godmother that the kitchen would be the very place the dogs themselves would have chosen had they been capable of voicing an opinion.
The ladies passed the morning as quietly as they could, reading, enjoying the gardens, and attempting in general to stay out of the way as much as possible.
“I have had this idea for some time,” Lady Montrose explained to them, “of creating an interior as deep and starry as the evening skies. The draperies will disguise the humdrum atmosphere of day-today life. And just a few candles will serve as stars. The very atmosphere for an evening of romance.”
As both ladies looked rather pointedly at her, she continued hastily, “Oh, I meant romance in the sense of adventure—the literary sense, of course.”
At this, Lady Montrose's butler entered. “I beg your pardon, ladies. The workmen are ready to begin on the conservatory at any time now. Would you prefer to delay them a little and have luncheon served here, or make some other arrangement?”
“No,” Lady Montrose decided, “there is a great deal yet to be done. The candles, you see, Cat and Eveline, will be mounted near the ceiling to effect a starry night within the conservatory. There will be more down in the gardens and orangeries. Do you think the servants will mind if we join them downstairs today?”
“I am sure they would be delighted, your ladyship,” he told her with a bow.
At this turn of events, Cat could not help but feel she had been outdone in democracy, for she had rarely visited her own kitchen since childhood; however, she and Eveline followed Lady Montrose into the as yet unexplored lower regions of the house. On their arrival in the huge, airy kitchen, Cat noted that members of Lady Montrose's staff merely greeted them politely, set extra places at the table and went about their business. Her own staff surveyed her with marked surprise, which they soon suppressed, taking their cue from the natives of that domain. Caesar and Brutus, however, being true egalitarians at the heart, showed no awareness of any class differences whatever and begged morsels from whomever seemed likeliest to indulge them, regardless of their station.
Cat noted during the course of the meal that Betsy and Audrey sat at opposite ends of the long table and whenever possible darted venomous glances in the other's direction. Their animosity, however, had apparently lost its entertainment value for the rest of the staff, and she was gratified to hear Martin and Tom tell spirited accounts of their adventures in London thus far.
Martin had been several times to see the Tower of London, where an o
bliging Beefeater had told him horrifyingly gruesome tales of the various encounters he had had with the headless ghost of Anne Boleyn. “Often, in the dark of night, Miss Cat.” he told her in hollow tones, “her spirit rises up and she walks the Bloody Tower, moaning and wailing, looking high and low for King Henry. You can see her plain as anything, they tell me. She holds her gory head up to talk to you and the lips…move!”
Not to be outdone by this thrilling tale, Tom told about his walks through London on his half day. Not only did he believe he'd caught a glimpse of Beau Brummell, but the Prince Regent as well.
“And he hasn't stopped fiddling about with his cravat yet,” Audrey snickered from her end of the table.
“Now see here, Audrey,” Betsy cried. “You leave off teasing Tom. I think he looks quite nice.”
“Well,” Audrey minced, “I suppose you have to be satisfied with whatever you can get.”
“Really, girls,” Cat broke in. “We'll have none of this. You've been friends since we were all children. I want you to start acting like it.”
“Sorry, Miss Cat,” Betsy mumbled.
“Sorry, Miss Cat,” Audrey echoed.
Neither of them looked terribly chastened, but they managed to get through the rest of the meal with a semblance of civility. As they arose, Caesar and Brutus bounded up and made as if to join them.
“Oh, dear,” Cat sighed regretfully. “I'm sorry, fellows, but you'll have to stay down here today. Martin, can you watch them?”
Martin stood shuffling his feet, and Audrey broke in, “He's too good a boy to mention it, Miss Cat, but our Martin has his work cut out today. Errands as would break a back, eh, Martin? I'll be glad to keep an eye on them for you, though, Miss Cat. I'll keep them well out of mischief.”
As Cat thanked Audrey with relief, she wondered if the girl's tendency toward idleness was not at last amending itself a little.
****
By late afternoon, all was in readiness for the festivities, but for the lighting of the candles. Cat's costume had arrived the day before, but Lady Montrose had been quick to take possession of it so as not to spoil the surprise. The design of Eveline's costume had also been undertaken by the little lady and the two of them controlled their curiosity with more and more difficulty as the day wore on. Finally, Lady Montrose allowed Felicia, who was nearly delirious with anticipation, to take the costumes to their chambers with instructions that she should be summoned when the two were ready.
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