“Forgive me, I ...” Catherine said and still found herself a little too dazed to partake of ordinary speech.
“There is nothing to forgive, my dear. You and I have never met, and you have only your father’s behaviour to go on as a yardstick by which to measure the rest of your paternal family. But I must tell you immediately that I have nothing at all in common with my brother, except perhaps the blood that runs through our veins. But then we none of us can help that, can we?” She smiled and laughed again.
“No, I suppose not.”
“I cannot begin to imagine what you have suffered prior to coming here, Catherine, but I daresay in time you will come to trust me and find yourself able to tell me about it. But I can speak to you plainly as one who has also been treated cruelly by the Earl of Barford, and so I think you will find in the end that the two of us might have more in common than you would think.”
“I had never heard of you before, not once. Until my father disowned me, I did not even know he had a sister. And I still do not even know your name,” Catherine said, feeling just a little more comfortable now that she was starting to trust that her aunt spoke true.
“Well, I am Celia Topwell. Obviously, I was once Celia Ambrose, but my marriage to Charles Topwell changed all of that.” She smiled broadly. “You may call me Celia, my dear, or Aunt Celia if you prefer it. But I understand if that is a little too informal for you, given that we have only just met. I think you have been through enough that you may choose it for yourself.”
“Aunt Celia,” Catherine said slowly, testing the words out for herself.
“I am not surprised that my brother has never mentioned me in all these years. He is a great one for disowning family members, or at least the females at any rate. I think it gives him a little power, and since he does not rate females particularly highly, it is a power at very little expense to himself.”
“He disowned you too, Aunt Celia?” Catherine said in a tiny voice, peering at her aunt in an awestruck, childlike fashion.
“He most certainly did, Catherine. And I was a little younger than you are, my dear.”
“But I am only just twenty.” Catherine’s eyes were wide.
She was suddenly full of wonder at how it was her father could have disowned his own sister as such a young woman. They really did have a good deal in common already.
“And I was only just eighteen.”
“Eighteen? Where did you go? How did you manage?”
“I had to get married. It was the only option open to me, but it was the right one I am glad to report.” She smiled, and her eyes crinkled a little. Celia looked as if she were reminiscing, and the reminiscence was truly pleasing to her. “You see, I had fallen in love with a dashing young man from the North, Charles Topwell. He was a little older than me and from a nice family. But my brother had decided that I was to be used as a commodity by him, nothing more. I was to be given away to a friend of his, almost as a gift. But I had no interest in his friend, and I was determined I would not marry him. The more interest that Charles Topwell paid me, the angrier Oscar became.”
“And it is Charles you married? Charles Topwell?” Catherine asked as her aunt pressed a hot teacup into her hand.
“Yes, and I was very lucky that he agreed to marry me after so brief an acquaintance. You see, we had known each other only a few weeks when my brother decided that I was to marry his friend. He told me that if I did not do as he said, then I would be disowned. I knew I could not marry the man of Oscar’s choosing, and so I had to accept that I was no longer a part of the Barford estate, no longer recognized as the new young Earl’s sister.”
“My father had only just become the Earl then?”
“Yes, and he was thoroughly enjoying his new status. But my own father was rather arrogant and unforgiving, and so I suppose that is where my brother learned his art. Oh, but he learned it well, for he could have turned the whole thing around and taught our father afresh.”
“But what happened next?” Catherine was suddenly diverted from her problems and intent on the historical ones of her aunt.
“I was disowned before I had even a chance to explain it all to Charles. I went to see a mutual friend of ours and was amazed to find Charles there. As I told our friend of my misfortune, Charles bore witness, and by the end of the conversation, he had proposed to me.”
“Oh, how wonderful,” Catherine said and wished that her own ending in all of this had been so happy.
“At first, it did not seem so, even though I had fallen in love with him. You see I was wise enough to know that I had not known him long enough to truly know his character, and so I was well aware that I might have jumped from the frying pan into the fire.”
“But you had not?”
“No, I had not. Charles was, and is, the finest man I have ever known.”
“And he is not angry about me being here? After all, it must be the most dreadful imposition to suddenly have an unknown niece, a practical stranger, thrust upon your household. I cannot tell you how uncomfortable it makes me and how very sorry I am about it all. But I think you perceive already that I had no control over any of it, even though I am awfully glad to meet you at last.”
“And I am awfully glad to meet you, Catherine.” Celia took the half-drunk tea from Catherine and quickly topped it up again. She then placed a small triangular sandwich onto a plate and handed it to her. “You must eat something,” she said before continuing, “there is no imposition at all in having you here; none. You must let go of that notion immediately, for I think you will have had enough to put up with these last weeks. And as for Charles, he is thrilled that we shall have a young person in the house. We never were blessed with children of our own, you see, and so I think it will liven him up no end to have some young company.”
“I cannot tell you how much better I feel, Aunt Celia. Truly, these last days have been the most anxious of my life, not to mention the saddest.”
“Am I to understand that you have been forced to leave somebody you love behind?” Celia said gently.
“Two people,” Catherine said, and her eyes welled with tears.
Her throat felt tight, and she laid the plate with the uneaten sandwich back down on the table, knowing that she could not swallow if her life depended on it.
“Tell me,” Celia said and placed a hand on either side of Catherine’s face.
“My brother, Philip,” Catherine said as her voice broke. “And Thomas. I loved Thomas.”
“And is Thomas the reason your father disowned you in the first place?”
“Yes,” Catherine said and nodded miserably. “He is the son of Duke Shawcross, you see.”
“For heaven’s sake!” Celia said in a slow, amazed way. “You surely do not mean that my brother continues the ridiculous argument that our father had with the old Duke?”
“If anything, it grows more fevered by the year. The current Duke and my father are very similar men, I believe, and my brother and I were raised never to speak to the Duke’s sons.”
“And that is all it took for your father to disown a girl who ought to have been most beloved to him.” Celia shook her head in an aspect that was both sad and angry all at once. “That man does not deserve any family around him at all. And what of your brother? What sort of a man is he?”
“Philip is so kind and caring, Aunt Celia. And he is a very fine man. I am certain that he will make a far better Earl than my father has. But I wish I had never had to leave him behind, for we were the best of friends, you see.”
“You have suffered a good deal, and I will not ask you any more about it today,” Celia said and blinked hard at her own little tears.
As much as she had not wanted to upset her aunt, to see her tears on Catherine’s behalf when they were so newly acquainted was one of the most touching things she had ever witnessed.
Even two months later as she lay in her bed in the small chamber waiting for the day to begin, Catherine felt the familiar stirring of emotion
as she thought of it.
And her aunt’s kindness had continued in that same vein ever since. Never once from that moment had Catherine felt at all uncomfortable at Ivy Manor. And meeting Charles Topwell, the man she had come to call Uncle Charles almost immediately, had only served to make her all the more comfortable.
He truly was pleased to see her there and, remembering the Earl of Barford well, was not at all surprised to hear of her father’s overblown reaction to such a simple friendship.
Between the two of them, Celia and Charles Topwell had done their utmost to make her not only at home at Ivy Manor but to try to ease the sadness she had arrived with. And even though it was sadness that Catherine knew would never relent, it meant all the world to her that her aunt and uncle would even try.
As Catherine lay in her bed and smiled rather vaguely at the ceiling, she was suddenly gripped by a sweeping, undeniable queasiness. It was the third time that week, only this time it did not seem that it would pass if she curled into a ball and went back to sleep.
This time, the queasiness would not be denied, and she was instantly propelled from her bed as if her body had been overtaken by another.
She raced across the room to her little washstand and was violently sick.
As Catherine splashed cold water on her face, she found she did not feel very much better. She staggered slowly back to her bed and slithered in under the covers once more.
Even as the sun came out suddenly so brightly, lighting the little room beautifully, Catherine’s spirits sank. What had been nothing more than a vague worry but days before was slowly becoming a certainty.
And it was a certainty that she felt sure, even in a kindly home such as Ivy Manor, would not be well received. Perhaps she would now know what it was like to be disowned entirely.
Chapter 11
Thomas sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree and stared out across the flat water of Stromlyn Lake. Summer was finally here, with the scent of warm, fragrant tree bark on the air and the constant accompaniment of such varied birdsong here there and everywhere.
And yet Thomas felt as flat and sad as he had done every day of the last three months.
Ever since Catherine had been taken from him, Thomas had gone down to Stromlyn Lake daily. Even when Catherine was still at home, they had mostly just met once a week, occasionally twice when they could not bear the parting.
Now, after three long months and finding that his heart was not healing at all, Thomas would have given anything for just five minutes. If only he could have five minutes with her every week for the rest of his life, Thomas could swear that he would be content.
But instead of a paltry five minutes, Thomas faced a lifetime of not knowing where she was and never seeing her again. And it most certainly was not for want of trying.
More than once, he had thought to try to get a message to Philip Ambrose to see if he could at least get an address in Derbyshire for the mysterious aunt. After all, Philip had certainly seemed decent enough when he had engineered their final meeting.
But as time passed, Thomas had to wonder if that final meeting was simply a parting gift to his sister. Perhaps, deep in his heart, Philip Ambrose blamed Thomas for the whole thing. After all, if Thomas had never approached Catherine, brother and sister would not have been wrenched apart.
And yet he could not think that of him, for his momentary dealings with him in arranging the thing had been cordial enough, not to mention the fact that Catherine had proclaimed her brother to be the finest of men.
Still, he could not guarantee that any message he sent to Philip would be safe. The Earl of Barford was a far crueler man than Thomas could ever have imagined. And, as much as he did not care for his own father, Thomas was certainly glad that his father was not Oscar Ambrose.
Thomas was sure that his own father could not have dreamed up a punishment so vile and so complete; one which destroyed the lives of three people if he included Philip. Still, perhaps that was because his father seemed to lack that sort of imagination. As far as cruelty was concerned, perhaps the Duke of Shawcross and the Earl of Barford were evenly matched, even if the Earl was a little more creative.
“You are here again, Thomas?” He looked up to see Pierce walking his horse down the steepest slope that led to the water’s edge.
Pierce spoke in a tone which was newly adopted, one he had only been using these last few months. It was a friendly, pleasant tone, with an edge of concern about it. Given that Pierce was the absolute cause of Thomas’ current malady, the tone always seemed inappropriate and almost always left Thomas clenching his fists at his sides.
“I am here again as you see me,” Thomas said in a flat tone and stared in a disinterested way at his brother. “But I do not see what it is to you.”
“Can I not ask a simple question? Make a simple inquiry?”
“I do not see what good it does you,” Thomas said sharply. “I am here every day as you well know. To comment upon it when you already have that knowledge is simply ridiculous.”
“Can you not see that I am searching for something to say?” he said and looked at him beseechingly.
Thomas had known that Pierce had almost instantly regretted his interference, his telling of tales. As soon as he realized the devastating effect it had had, not only on Thomas but on a young lady with whom he ought never to have any argument, his remorse was clear.
And Thomas had equally realized that Pierce had never imagined that things would go so far. But he had only not imagined it because he had not bothered to think about it, being so lost in his own gains.
But, in the end, there had been no gain for him, and certainly not the gain that he had hoped for. Instead of finding that he had finally received some approval from their father, the news had simply angered the old man too much for him to bother with such trifles as praise.
And, the fact that Pierce had seen fit to contact the Earl of Barford about the matter had made it all the worse for him. The Duke had been furious that Pierce had given his old adversary any warning at all, wanting the punishment of his second son to be entirely in his own hands.
And whilst the Duke had been pleased to see the devastating effect the separation had on Thomas, it was still clear to see that he was somewhat peeved not to be the one to inflict the pain in the first place.
“Why must you search for something to say? In fact, why must you say anything at all?” Despite knowing that Pierce had not foreseen the dreadful outcome, still, Thomas could not forgive him.
Had they been much closer as brothers, perhaps he might have found the smallest slice of mercy in his heart, but since they were not, Thomas was content to nurse his anger.
“You went to see a friend last week in Northampton, did you not? Hugh Weatherby, your old school friend?” Pierce spoke in a conversational manner, but Thomas could already sense that his brother knew it to be a lie.
Thomas had not been to see Hugh Weatherby; in fact, he had not set eyes on his old friend from Eton for some years. He had known at the time that it would be an easy lie to discover, and yet he had not cared.
Even now as he looked at his brother, certain that he knew the truth, Thomas could not have cared less. What did it matter to him now? What could his father do to him that had not already been done?
“What of it?” Thomas said solemnly.
“You did not really go to Northampton, did you?” Despite the accusation, Pierce still sounded friendly and concerned.
In days gone by, Pierce would have sounded arrogant and self-satisfied. It seemed like a long time since Thomas had heard that old tone from his brother. And yet still he knew he would never forgive him.
Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection Page 36