Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  “He wants to meet me this afternoon at Stromlyn Lake,” she said, knowing that was exactly what he had meant by the old place.

  “Does he say why?” Philip asked cautiously.

  “He just says that he has something that he wishes to say to me, that is all.”

  “And will you go?”

  “I do not think it is wise, Philip.” Catherine shook her head gently. “I could not have been clearer with him the other day, Philip. And I cannot see how continuing to meet will help either one of us. It is just too painful.”

  “And yet it seems as if he has something to say,” Philip said and seemed a little overenthusiastic.

  “It is very sweet of you to want such wonderful things for me, Philip. But the last eight years have taught me not to expect such romance in my life again. I really must protect myself.”

  “But Catherine, why can you not tell him about Henry? Does he not at least have a right to know that he is a father?”

  “You are right; he does have a very real right to know that he is a father, Philip. But I cannot do it. I cannot look into his eyes and wonder if he has chosen me out of a sense of duty. If I told him, it would be my way of asking him to abandon everything, would it not? It would even be an expectation, and I do not want my life to be based on such shaky ground.”

  “I understand, really I do. But if you leave it and leave it, if he marries that dreadful Lady Eleanor, it matters not when you tell him for there will be nothing he can do about it. You see, you are taking his choice away in this, even though I understand entirely why you would do it. Catherine, I wish I could offer advice so sensible that it could only help, but this is a most unusual set of circumstances, and I can only tell you to go with your heart.” He smiled at her mischievously. “But if it was me, I know I would tell him.”

  “If it was you?” Catherine laughed heartily. “If you were a woman of eight and twenty with a child and had no husband, really, Philip.” She laughed all the harder.

  “Stop being silly.” Philip reached out and gently pinched her arm.

  Catherine squealed dramatically and reached out to pinch him in return, only he ducked out of her way, and she was forced to chase him through the great entrance hall and down the long corridor towards the drawing room.

  “So, this is what you were like when you were children!” Aunt Celia said, appearing suddenly in the drawing room doorway.

  “Sorry, Aunt Celia,” Philip said and looked suddenly like a giant boy.

  “What are the two of you quarreling about?” Celia was clearly highly amused and very touched to see a brother and sister who still got on so well in adulthood.

  “I have had a letter from Thomas asking me to meet him. He says he has something to say to me. Philip thinks I should go, and I do not.”

  “I think you should go too,” Celia said.

  “Five minutes we have been here and already you are on Philip’s side in everything.” Catherine laughed and felt a sudden warm glow.

  She felt as if she were a part of a real family again, more than she had ever felt when she and Philip had been there alone with their father.

  It gave her such a sense of well-being she decided that she would, after all, meet with Thomas. If she had a family such as hers to go back to, she could be comforted and protected by them if need be. And she knew if she did not go, she would always wonder.

  And so it was, just an hour later, that she set off on foot in the direction of Stromlyn Lake.

  She had not walked that way since she had returned to Hertfordshire, not wanting to feel the great swell of emotion that would undoubtedly waylay her when she saw the place that had once meant so much to them both.

  The day was sunny, although not terribly warm, and she was glad that she had picked up a light woollen shawl on her way out of Barford Hall.

  As she walked along the familiar pathway, she felt a little twinge of the old excitement that she used to feel in the days when she had met him there quite secretly. She could not have imagined then striding purposefully out of her father’s house having announced to all where she was going and who she was meeting. How much had changed, and how much of it was for the better, in the Ambrose household, at any rate.

  When she reached the high point of land that surrounded the recessed lake, she peered over the edge and down into the glassy water. She could see Thomas already there, sitting on a large dry rock and throwing little stones into the lake.

  As soon as she began to make her descent, Thomas saw her and rose to his feet. He stood for a moment where he was, and then suddenly hastened to meet her, taking both her hands in his the moment they were face-to-face.

  “I had to see you, Catherine. I have to tell you something that I did not want to put in a letter. Will you listen?” he said with his pale, sky blue eyes fixing hers in a way that made her want to fall into his arms.

  She simply nodded.

  “Catherine, I love you as much as I ever did. Not a day has gone by when I have not thought of you, and my love for you has not waned one ounce in all the years we were parted. I have never loved anybody else, and I never will love anybody else. I want you and you only, so will you have me? Will you consent to be my wife?” He paused for a moment, and Catherine stood staring at him, her eyes wide and her heart pounding. “It is true that I will have very little to offer you, for I will undoubtedly be disowned. But you know the pain of that situation yourself, and you know how it can be overcome. What do you say? Can we just get back to where we were?”

  “Yes, yes, yes!” she said and threw her arms around his neck, feeling his strong hands on her waist lifting her from the ground and spinning her around until she was so disorientated that she had to protest and have him put her back on her feet again.

  “I love you, Catherine,” he said and cupped her face in his hands.

  “I love you, Thomas. It was always you; it has only ever been you.”

  When he leaned in to kiss her, the years rolled back as easily as a rug. It was the most wonderful moment and one that she had never imagined would happen to her again.

  Chapter 25

  “So, we shall make a very merry little party at the ball, shall we not?” Eleanor Barchester said with forced brightness as the four of them sat down to afternoon tea in the drawing room at Winsford Hall.

  Thomas could not bear Winsford Hall with its ostentation and the ever-present threat of the décor changing in a heartbeat to be in line with the current mode of doing things.

  The drawing room was testament to the owner’s deep concern with appearances and opinions. The walls had recently been re-panelled in the darkest oak to almost three-quarters of the room’s height. The plain walls above were painted in a rich red, the colour of blood. The fabric of the armchairs and couches was either red or a rich golden yellow, and many of the large and plentiful portraits of the previous Earls of Winsford were framed in gold.

  There seemed to be far too much going on for Thomas’ liking, and he always had the feeling he could not settle when he was a guest there.

  Of course, he knew it was very likely the company he was in which unsettled him, rather than the determinedly up-to-date décor.

  The Earl of Winsford was a source of constant irritation. He was a sycophant like so many other men who had hovered around the Duke of Shawcross over the years. If he was honest, there were many who had tried to occupy the space around him too in the years since Pierce had died. He could see how they might think that to align themselves with the future Duke was as important, if not more important, than aligning themselves with the current Duke.

  But Thomas had rudely rejected any attempts, very likely swatting away genuine offers of friendship along the way. Not that he cared particularly.

  “I think we shall all travel together,” the Duke said, and Thomas marvelled at the way his father made what should have been a pleasant offer sound more like an order. “We shall collect you here in my carriage an hour before. That should give us plenty of time
to get there.”

  “Quite so, Your Grace.” The Earl inclined his head so far that Thomas almost laughed.

  He thought that the Earl must spend a whole day with a sore neck after even the briefest of encounters with the Duke.

  “How nice that we shall arrive together for a change,” Eleanor said directly to Thomas. “It makes a statement to the county, I feel.”

  “Does it?” Thomas knew he was being obtuse.

  He also knew this obtuseness was a means of putting off the need for a more forthright and honest conversation with Eleanor. Not only Eleanor but his own father.

  As for the Earl, he was of little matter to Thomas, and he could not imagine that would change. Eleanor would no doubt be the bearer of bad news as far as her father was concerned.

  But first, Thomas would have to get it all said. It had been some days since he had seen Catherine down by Stromlyn Lake.

  He had been so filled with joy when Catherine had agreed to marry him that he had quite forgotten that there would be more to it. Thomas knew, of course, that he could not marry Catherine without ever mentioning a word about it, but he had been riding high on a wave of euphoria and had been able to push what was to come to the back of his mind.

  But the ball at the home of the Earl and Countess of Hargrave was the following evening, and he knew that Catherine and her brother would be in attendance.

  He had not specifically stated when he would give his father the news, and knowing Catherine as he did, he did not think she would have expected him to ride straight home from Stromlyn Lake and deal with it all. Still, he would have to make his mind up to some course of action and do what he could to have a few minutes in private with Catherine at the ball and let her know his plan.

  He smiled to himself, thinking that trying to secure a few moments with her right under his father’s nose would be like old times.

  Suddenly, he was hit with the old excitement, just as it had been all those years ago when he first began to take notice of her.

  That first little meeting when he had followed her out into the corridor at Lord Vinton’s ball remained one of the most thrilling events of his life. It had begun as a bit of mischief, something to amuse himself with at a ball where two of the most powerful men in the county were eyeing each other and puffing out their chests.

  He had wanted to secretly thumb his nose at them both, and what better way to achieve it than sneak away and talk to the daughter of his father’s enemy?

  But as soon as he had spoken to her, as soon as she had answered him with a confidence equal to his own, Thomas had been lost. He was done for, and he knew that he had wandered idly into a moment that would change his life forever.

  He had studied her before, but never at such close quarters, and it was not until that day that Thomas realized he had never set eyes on a more beautiful woman in his life. Those almond shaped hazel eyes had met his squarely, and he had never known a day thereafter when he had not imagined them as clearly as he had seen them on that day.

  “It brings us closer to our all-important announcement!” Eleanor barked and brought him thundering back into the present moment.

  “I beg your pardon?” Thomas said quietly as he racked his brain for the thread of the original conversation.

  “For God’s sake, boy! Where is your head today?” His father’s near-shout made all present jump in their seats, Thomas included.

  So, his father was going to speak to him as if he were still a child, was he? For a moment, anger and outrage almost caused Thomas to blurt out the news that he was going to marry Catherine Ambrose just like that. No build up to the thing; no warning at all.

  But to do so would be to shock Eleanor Barchester in front of an audience and, as much as he did not care for her, Thomas would never have done such a thing.

  “My daughter was simply referring to the announcement that the whole county has been waiting for,” the Earl began tentatively, reminding Thomas of a dog who expected to be struck by its master at any moment. “Your forthcoming engagement.” His smile was more a terrified baring of teeth, and it made Thomas despise him all the more.

  What sort of man would happily release his daughter into the custody of a bully like the Duke of Shawcross? Still, Eleanor Barchester was more than capable of looking after herself, being much more openly self-serving than her father.

  “I see,” Thomas said and gave a brittle smile he hoped would satisfy them all.

  “Perhaps that would be a good time to make our announcement,” Eleanor went on, and he could see by her cool demeanour that she was not the least bit affected by the tense atmosphere that hung in the room like an impenetrable cobweb. “The ball, I mean. Most of the county will be there. Anyone of any importance, anyway,” she spoke airily, and Thomas wondered what standard Eleanor Barchester set for a person’s importance in the world.

  More than likely it was nothing more than money, title, and power. For what else was there in the world when you were Eleanor Barchester? Loyalty, humour, wit, these would undoubtedly be things of little or no value to her.

  But to Catherine Ambrose, they were everything. Thomas could not remember a single instance of Catherine showing any sign of a materialistic nature, nor had he ever noticed false pride in her title. And all that he was in life was everything she accepted without the desire to tweak his qualities to suit her own mood. She laughed at his humorous observations; she was interested in his conversation. Catherine was so like himself in all the important things that he could not remember a time he ever felt awkward or cautious in her presence.

  Never had he had to pretend to be anything other than himself. He had never had to assume an air of arrogance or pretend he was a hero or a sportsman. Catherine could not care less if he was an accurate shot at archery or if he was at the front of the pack in the hunt. These things were unimportant; unimpressive. Catherine dealt in the soul, and why would she not? She had the finest of souls, and that was why Thomas had never been able to shake her from his mind.

  “So, is that agreed?” Eleanor was showing signs of exasperation. “We shall announce our engagement publicly at the ball?”

  “I thought we were engaged already,” Thomas said quizzically as his mind raced with all manner of awful outcomes.

  He had just proposed to Catherine, for heaven’s sake. He could not allow the Duke, the Earl, and Lady Eleanor Barchester to upend that with their determination to have an engagement announced that would never come to fruition.

  “Yes, but we have not made it public properly.” Her brow was furrowed deeply and unattractively.

  “Perhaps it would be inappropriate,” Thomas began hastily in his desperation to head off such a thing. “It would be bad form to make Lord Hargrave’s ball a celebration of our own. We ought to announce it at a ball at Shawcross. That would be a better way of doing things. The ball would be for that purpose, and all present would likely know it in advance.”

  “Yes, perhaps that would be best. It would be more fitting for it to be announced at a ball in our honour rather than elsewhere.” Eleanor seemed pleased by the idea, or at least she was placated by it. “Yes, that would do very well indeed.” She always spoke as if the world and everyone in it had one purpose only; to please her.

  Thomas could feel things getting away from him. Instead of extricating himself from this evil engagement, he was entrenching himself deeper into it. But he had to say something; he couldn’t allow them to announce the thing in front of Catherine, even if she did know that he would never go through with it.

  “So, no announcements at the Hargrave ball,” Thomas said and was determined to set the seal on that much at least.

  He was beginning to feel he had let things drift for too many days. He ought really to have announced his decision not to marry Eleanor as soon as he had returned from Stromlyn Lake on that most wonderful of days.