by Candice Hern
"Celebration, indeed," Stephen said, making a great effort to raise his head and face his friend. "Perhaps you would like to join me, Miles," he said, enunciating each word slowly and deliberately. "I am celebrating the end of foolishness, you see, for I have seen the light."
Miles cocked a brow and a grin tipped his mouth. "What light is that, my friend?" he asked. "I had no idea you were living in darkness."
Stephen shrugged a nonresponse and held out the brandy bottle, offering Miles a drink. Miles took the bottle and the glass Stephen had to be reminded to locate. He poured himself a drink and relaxed back into his chair. "Actually," he said, "I did, in fact, come to tell you that there may soon be cause for celebration. At least I hope so." He smiled rather sheepishly. "That is, if Miss Catherine Forsythe will accept me."
Stephen thought he might actually become ill. It was a moment before he was able to speak. "You plan to offer for her then?" he said at last.
"Yes, I do," Miles replied.
Stephen drew a long breath, then expelled it very slowly. His heart constricted unexpectedly and painfully. He struggled with what to say, knowing he should probably keep his mouth shut. But the drink seemed to loosen his tongue, and he heard is own words spilling out before his brain was even aware of it. "As your friend, Miles, I feel compelled to tell you that the woman is an unscrupulous fortune hunter."
Miles glared at him through narrowed eyes. He took a swallow of brandy and slowly put his glass down on the desk before he spoke. "In what way is she unscrupulous?" he asked.
"In every way," Stephen replied. "In every possible way. I have it on good authority that she came to this party with the express intention that she and her sister find rich husbands. The lovely Susannah has failed her by latching on to my fortuneless cousin. And now Catherine is committed to the project, and she has selected you, Miles, as her prey."
"On what authority," Miles asked, a hint of steel in his voice.
"I have it straight from the horse's mouth, if you must know. You see, I am acquainted with your Miss Forsythe."
Miles looked astonished. "How so?" he asked.
Stephen was suddenly embarrassed to admit to all that had happened. But he had come this far; he might as well continue. "I met her the first day or so of Mother's party. Literally fell over her in the summer garden. Wasn't looking where I was going, I suppose. She . . . she assumed I was the gardener, and I allowed her to believe that I was. You know how nervous I am about Mother's guests knowing I am in residence."
"She thought you were the gardener?" Miles's mouth twitched up into a smile.
"Well, you know how I look when I'm working."
Miles began to laugh. "But she never guessed who you were?"
Stephen was feeling decidedly flushed with embarrassment. Or maybe it was just the drink. Lord, but this was a humiliating story when it came right down to it. "No, she never guessed. I continued to see her about, and showed her around the gardens several times. There were a few near misses. One or the other of the staff wanting to address me as 'Your Grace' and such things like that. I was such an insufferable bully to them all that she decided I was the head gardener."
Miles threw his head back and laughed and laughed.
"Anyway," Stephen said, trying to ignore his friend's amusement, "since she thought I was nothing more than. . ." He paused and recalled the sting of Catherine's words that evening. You are nothing more than a stupid, ignorant gardener, she had said. And he rather believed she was right, for he had never felt so stupid in his life. He took a deep breath and continued. "She thought I was nothing more than the gardener," he said, "and so she apparently felt comfortable confiding in me. Told me all about her scheme to snare a rich husband. She had planned it all very carefully. She and her sister need the money, you see. They've had rather a hard time of it."
Miles had stopped laughing and stared up at the ceiling. He swirled his glass in slow circles, the brandy sloshing up near the rim with each turn. "In truth," he said at last, "I do not see anything wrong with her wanting a rich husband. Her motives are little different from my own, after all. Did I not admit to coming to the party for the purpose of finding a wife? It seems to me that Miss Forsythe and I are on the same page. We can each fulfill the other's requirements very nicely."
"But she's so cold and heartless about it," Stephen exclaimed. "She is only using you to achieve some level of security."
"But is that not what most young women are seeking on the Marriage Mart," Miles asked. "Miss Forsythe is no different from the others."
"You have been talking with my mother," Stephen muttered.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Nothing. Go on, Miles."
"Well, in any case, I do not see anything so horrible about Miss Forsythe's motives. Besides, it would not be a completely heartless arrangement. She is really a very sweet girl. I think we will rub along well enough together. With time, we will no doubt develop a certain fondness, an affection for one another."
"But not love?"
Miles sighed and poured another brandy. "You know that I have no hopes of finding love a second time in my life. I do not even seek it. But I need a mother for my daughters, a partner for life. We will learn to care for each other in time."
"No love," Stephen said, shaking his head, "and no passion? Or perhaps you expect passion to come with time as well."
Miles chuckled. "I cannot predict anything in that quarter. I will admit, though, to stealing a brief kiss from Miss Forsythe while we walked near the lake one day. But I fear it was not exactly passionate. It was quite chaste, almost like kissing my sister. I might wish for a little more warmth, but after all, Miss Forsythe is young and inexperienced."
Catherine lacking warmth? Like kissing his sister?
Stephen had to wonder if this was the same Catherine who had melted in his arms on more than one occasion? Who had returned his kisses with a passion equal to his own? Whose kisses were enough to blister a man inside out?
Stephen could have laughed, but suddenly felt ashamed, as if he had betrayed his closest friend. How could Catherine have allowed him to do such a thing? How could she have allowed him to deceive Miles in such a despicable manner? She had no right kissing him like that. How was he expected to resist her when she kissed him like that? And she had the nerve to throw at him that scathing diatribe about supposedly seducing her. Bellowing at him like some Billingsgate fishwife when it was all her fault.
Well, Miles was welcome to her, the cold-hearted baggage.
"I wish you every happiness with the . . . the young lady," Stephen said, biting his tongue against the words he wanted to say.
"I remind you that she has not yet accepted me," Miles said.
"Oh, but she will, Miles, you may depend upon it. She will."
"Is it true, then, Cath? You expect an offer from Lord Strickland?"
Catherine strolled arm in arm with Susannah through the Chinese garden. She had asked Catherine to walk with her, and during their walk had admitted that Captain Phillips had made her an offer. Susannah had been positively breathless with the excitement of it all.
"I cannot say for certain, Sukey," Catherine replied. It was the biggest understatement of her life. "I have hopes, but he has made no offer yet."
"But you believe he will?"
"I have been thinking that he might, yes."
"Oh, Cath!" Susannah stopped on the little red painted bridge and pulled her sister into a fierce hug. "How wonderful! I have been so wrapped up in my own happiness I have been blind to what must be a very exciting time for you. I am so sorry, Cath, but even with my spectacles I have been able to see nothing else but Roger." She released Catherine and turned to lean on the bridge rail, gazing distractedly down at the stream below. "But I am so pleased that you have fallen in love as well," she said. "Is it not the most wonderful thing in the world? Have you ever been so happy in all your life?"
"Well, as to that. . ."
&nbs
p; "What? What is it, Cath?"
"It is just that, unlike you and the captain, the earl and I are not in love."
Susannah spun around and glared wide-eyed at Catherine. "Not in love? But, how can that be? I thought you wished to marry him?"
"I do."
"But. . ." Susannah looked incredulous and confused. "But, how can you marry him if you do not love him?"
"Have you completely forgotten our purpose for coming to Chissingworth?" Catherine asked, exasperated by all this talk of love. "But of course you have. You forgot it the moment you met the captain. Well, thank goodness at least one of us remembered that we needed to marry a fortune."
"You would marry the earl for his fortune, then? Even though you do not love him?"
"Of course I would. Love is not everything, you know. I am looking out for my future. For our future."
Susannah stepped to the other side of the bridge and looked out toward the little slope-roofed pavilion. She did not speak for several minutes, though her furrowed brow spoke volumes. Catherine hoped her sister would drop the subject.
But she did not.
"I do not think it is right, Cath," she said at last. "You should not marry without love. I fear you will regret it. Money is not nearly so important as love. Besides," she said, turning around to face her sister, "a fortune will not bring you happiness."
"But neither will the lack of one," Catherine said. "Good Lord, Sukey, do you really expect me to continue to scrimp and scrape just to put food on the table when I have an opportunity for so much more? Well, I have no intention of living on the edge of poverty for the rest of my life. I will not live forever in the shadow of Papa's failure."
Susannah became very quiet again. Catherine had never seen her sister in so reflective a mood. It was unlike her. "I have been no more content than you," Susannah said, "with the way we have been forced to live. But I think I have learned something very important from Roger."
"And what is that?"
"I have learned that there are different kinds of security in life. There is the sort of security offered by a fortune. But there is also a sort of security born of being loved." She reached out and put an arm around Catherine's shoulder. "I think that is what you are really seeking, Cath. Because that is where Papa failed. He was not a failure so much because he squandered his money. He was a failure because his actions made his family feel unimportant. You cannot deny, can you, that you did not feel he loved you?"
"How could he have?" Catherine replied, her voice choking on old memories, old pain. "If he had loved us, he would have protected us from ruin. He would have left us with some means to survive. But he cared nothing for us."
Susannah squeezed her shoulder and held her tight. "I do not believe that," she said. "I am sure he loved us, which is probably why he put a gun to his head rather than face us with his ruination. But his true failure was in making his own daughter believe she was not loved."
The solitary figure of MacDougal stood hidden among the honeysuckle bushes opposite the Chinese bridge. The morning sun glinted off the silver that sprinkled the dark hair at his temples. His brown eyes were filled with pain as he watched and listened to the two sisters.
He blinked at Susannah's words, and a single tear traced a path down his lined cheek.
"It is the security of love you should be seeking," Susannah said. "Not only the security of a fortune. If you seek only the latter, I fear you will come to regret it."
Catherine felt a pain stab her between the eyes. She did not wish to think of her father and his betrayal. Nor of the love she might have known. It was too late now.
"I do not believe I would regret marrying the earl," Catherine said in an anguished whisper.
"I am sure he is a very nice man," Susannah said. "He seems to be so. I only wish it could be like it is with Roger and me. I wish you could find someone to love instead."
But I have, Catherine thought. Only I have driven him away.
"Dearest Sukey," she said, putting an arm around her sister's waist, "you have given me much to think on, my clever big sister. But I think I should like to be alone for a few minutes, if you do not mind."
Susannah put her arms around Catherine and gave her another hug. "I know you will do the right thing," she said. She gave Catherine a quick kiss on the cheek, turned, and walked down the bridge to the garden entrance.
As Catherine watched her disappear through the trees, she wondered when her myopic, bubble-headed sister had become so wise.
She descended the bridge in the opposite direction and followed the gravel path to the little pavilion. She entered its shade and sat down on the single wood bench.
Catherine wanted to consider Susannah's words. She wanted to consider the security of love. But commitment to that other security, the security of a fortune, still held her conscience firmly in its grip.
When they had first received the duchess's invitation, Catherine knew she would have to grab at this opportunity to find a rich husband. The notion that it was her last chance had entered her head then, and had become lodged there like a fishbone stuck in her throat. She could not get rid of it. Susannah's talk of love nibbled away at it, trying to dislodge it, but the thing held firm. It was her last chance.
Besides, there was no reason to dwell on the possibility of love. She had lashed out at the one man she had ever cared for. She had driven him away forever with her hateful words. There was no reason not to marry the earl.
The uncertainties of the night before had evaporated with a few words from Lord Strickland that morning. He had joined her at the breakfast table before leaving with a large group of men for a day of shooting. He had told her he very much hoped to have a chance to speak with her that evening. His meaning, at least to Catherine, was clear. He was going to offer for her after all.
She ought to have been ecstatic. She had already planned a little speech of acceptance. There were only a few more days left of the house party. If she refused him, there would be no other offers. And what would she do? When Susannah married the captain, she would be in no position to help introduce Catherine into Society. The Chissingworth party was her only opportunity. She could not walk away a failure.
And marriage to Lord Strickland would not be so horrible as Susannah thought. He was very kind and considerate and intelligent. His one brief kiss that afternoon by the lake had not set her senses on fire, like those of someone else; but he would make a good husband. She would be content. Not all marriages were love matches, to be sure. Not everyone was as fortunate as Susannah.
But what if her sister was right? Would she live to regret it? Would she always look back and wonder what might have been, if she had followed her heart? Doubt invaded her thoughts with the sharpness of teeth and talons. It tore at her.
What should she do?
Catherine looked up to see MacDougal standing in the entrance to the pavilion, silhouetted against the morning sun. He moved inside, and she saw a look of such concern in his eyes that she almost broke into sobs at the sight of him.
"What shall I do, MacDougal? The earl is probably my last chance."
He paced silently for a few moments and then stopped to look down at her. "He is a good man, the earl, and would treat ye well, I dinna doubt. But ye dinna love him."
"No."
"Ye love another, in fact."
"Yes," she said, choking on a sob.
"Is it fair to the earl, d'ye think, goin' to him wi'out the possibility o' love?"
"I do not know."
"And is it fair to yerself? Ye must think it over, lass, and do what yer heart tells ye. Aye, I think ye must listen to yer heart and not yer head fer once."
But if she listened to her heart, she would throw away everything she had dreamed of. She would miss this one last chance. She had never lived by her emotions—by her heart, MacDougal would say—but had always followed the dictates of sound reasoning and logic.
But there was no logic about the way s
he felt. And she did not know what to do.
Chapter 16
She had thought about it all day while the men were out shooting. She had thought about it all through tea and all through dinner. Catherine had considered the situation from every angle and had come to a firm decision.
But here she was alone in the rosarium with the earl and her stomach was a tangle of knots. The moon was near full and very bright and the heady perfume of a thousand roses filled the air. It was a night meant for romance, and just about the most romantic thing a girl could ever dream of was about to happen to her. But she was frightened.
Lord Strickland asked if she would like to sit for a while on one of the stone benches. Catherine's knees had become so wobbly she was grateful to do so. She sat stiffly, every muscle of her body taut with tension, and folded her hands in her lap. The earl sat beside her and reached over to take her hands in his own.
"I think you must have guessed by now why I wanted to speak with you," he said.
Catherine looked at her hands in his and said nothing, trying to pull together her scattered wits. This was the moment she had been waiting for, hoping for.
"I have grown quite fond of you, Miss Forsythe," he said. "I have a great deal of admiration and respect for you. I am hoping you might feel the same for me. I wonder if you would do me the honor of becoming my wife?"
Catherine turned to look at him and opened her mouth to accept. But instead, and without warning, she burst into tears. Great, uncontrollable sobs racked her as she pulled her hands away from the earl's and covered her face. She could not do it. After all her logical consideration, she could not do it. She was consumed with shame and humiliation.
"Good Lord. What is it, Miss Forsythe? Have I offended you?"
Oh God. What must he think of her? She was hateful and he did not deserve such treatment. She took ragged gulps of air and tried to speak.
"N-n-n-no," she sputtered. "It is j-just. . ." She gave a great choking sob before going on. "You are m-much too n-nice a m-man to be s-s-saddled with m-me."