by Candice Hern
Out of sheer mischief, Stephen decided not to tell her just yet. A wicked plan had begun to take shape in his mind. He bit back a smile as he considered he may just have the perfect way to get back at her for calling him a stupid gardener. It was low. It was shameless. But he could not resist.
He pulled Catherine onto his lap and tucked her head beneath his chin. She nestled closer and he felt a swelling of such love for her he wondered that he could even consider pulling such a rig. She would probably kill him. But it was too deliciously irresistible.
"I have heard," he said, "that tomorrow night is the duchess's grand ball."
"Yes," she said wistfully as she absently played with the buttons on his waistcoat. "It is the culmination of the house party."
"I suppose you have a fine new gown for the occasion?"
"Well, it is not new, of course. Merely another of the Fairchild dresses altered by Susannah. But it is quite pretty, I think."
"What color is it?"
"Pink. Why?"
"Just curious. Have you heard that His Grace might put in an appearance?"
"The duke?"
"Yes. You have not heard that rumor?"
"No," she said, her voice full of surprise. She had stopped toying with his buttons. "I had not heard. How very curious. I did not think he ever appeared at his mother's parties."
Stephen was grinning roguishly above her head. He could not help himself. "The buzz among the staff is that he is coming to the ball to announce his betrothal."
"Really? The duke is to marry? How fascinating."
It was all Stephen could do not to begin snickering. He could just imagine what Catherine was thinking. The poor old dim-witted duke was to take a bride. Who on earth would have such a pitiful creature?
"Who is he to marry?" she asked, and Stephen had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
"I do not know. But I imagine you will find out at the ball when the announcement is made."
She turned in his arms and put her hands on his shoulders. "How I wish you could come with me to the ball, Stephen. I would love to dance with you."
He shook his head and brushed a kiss against her lips.
"I understand, my love," she said. "I know you cannot attend the ball. But it will be no fun for me without you there. I wish I did not have to go."
"Oh, but you must," he said. "The duchess would be offended."
"I know she would. And she has been so kind and hospitable. I must make at least a brief appearance out of respect."
"You must be there for the duke's announcement."
"Must I?"
"It is the proper thing to do, my love."
"Yes, of course." She breathed a sigh. "But I shall sneak away directly afterward and meet you here."
Stephen lifted her off his lap, pulled her to her feet, and took her in his arms. "Tomorrow, then," he said, "we shall dance together under the stars and celebrate our own betrothal."
"Oh but, Stephen! That is wonderful!"
The duchess threw her arms around her son's neck and hugged him close. "It is, isn't it," he said. She whooped with surprise when he lifted her by the waist and swung her around and around. When he finally settled her back to earth, she laid her hands against his chest to regain her balance. He looked down at her and a huge grin split his face from ear to ear.
His smile brought a lump to her throat. She had never seen him this happy. Not since he was a carefree little boy, before he became the duke. She had hoped and hoped that this would happen, that he would finally find a woman who loved him for himself alone. She had believed Catherine Forsythe just might be the one. But that business about a fortune and Lord Strickland's interest had been powerful concerns. She was happier than she could say that Catherine had shown the fortitude to follow her heart and not her empty purse.
But he had not yet revealed to her his true identity. Now that he had the proof of her love, she wondered what stopped him.
"And she has no idea you are Carlisle?" she asked.
"None," he replied with a devilish grin.
"And when, may I ask, do you think you might tell her? Do you plan to wait until after the ceremony? Or until after your wedding night? Or perhaps until after your first child is born?"
Stephen laughed. She did not know when she had seen him laugh so much. "Not quite that long," he said. "Only until the announcement. And that is where I need your help, Mother."
The duchess stood slack-jawed with astonishment as he unfolded his plan to her. Good heavens, it was a devilish deception. It was almost cruel. Catherine would probably be furious. But he was determined to go through with it.
"This could be a tricky business," she said. "I am somehow supposed to ensure that no one addresses you as 'Your Grace.' How am I to do that, I ask you?"
"I shall leave it to you, Mother. The staff should be easy enough to control. They are used to my odd behavior."
"Well, I thank goodness you have always been such an eccentric, Stephen. I will have to use that reputation to warn the other guests not to acknowledge your position. Some of them think you are a loose screw anyway. This should put an end to any doubts on that score."
Stephen laughed again. "Isn't it delicious? Catherine herself told me the Duke of Carlisle was well known to be a half-wit."
"And Hetty tells me they believe we keep you locked up," she said, chuckling at the recollection. "Like the poor old King."
Stephen gave a bark of laughter. "Then you should have no trouble convincing them that I do not wish to be acknowledged as the duke. Just another of my dim-witted notions."
"To give you the benefit of the doubt, I will merely say it is simply another manifestation of your eccentricity. But you are Carlisle and we must all do as you say."
"Indeed."
"How does it feel," the duchess asked, "to have all the world think you crazy as a loon?"
"I could care less about all the world," he said, "but I have never felt happier in my life, Mother. And I am crazy, you know. Crazy in love with Catherine. And it feels wonderful."
"She will murder you when she finds out, you know."
"I know," he said with a wicked gleam in his eye.
"But then she will marry me and it will all have been worth it."
"You are indeed crazy, you know. I hope to heaven this lunatic plan of yours works."
"So do I, Mother. So do I."
Chapter 19
Catherine had the breath nearly squeezed clean out of her when she announced her plans to Susannah and Aunt Hetty the next morning. Their excitement filled Catherine's bedchamber, where she had gathered them to tell her news. Her aunt looked decidedly smug, as though she had actually had something to do with it all. Or as though she had known all along that Catherine would end up marrying for love rather than for a fortune. But then, Aunt Hetty was a hopeless romantic who never gave a moment's consideration to money, as Catherine knew well from experience.
Susannah was simply agog with excitement. "I knew it!" she squealed. "I just knew it! I knew you would not marry the earl for all the wrong reasons."
"I am afraid I disgraced myself terribly with Lord Strickland," Catherine said, blushing with shame at the recollection of his offer and her watery response. "I am sure I embarrassed the poor man to death. But he was so kind. And so understanding. I hope one day he finds someone who can really love him."
"I am sure he will, my dear," Aunt Hetty said. "And I am also sure he would never reveal to anyone what took place between you. He is too much of a gentleman to carry such tales."
"He is a very nice man, I am sure," Susannah said, "but, just the same, I am glad that you refused him, Cath. It would not have been right. But, my goodness, I had no idea about Mr. Archibald! Why did you not tell us, you sly goose?"
"I suppose I never really thought I'd have the nerve to reject a fortune," Catherine said. "So there was no point in mentioning him."
"I am so proud of you, Cath!" Susan
nah hugged her for perhaps the hundredth time. Her ribs really were becoming quite sore from all this enthusiasm. Not to mention all the passionate crushing done by Stephen the night before, she thought with a self-conscious smile. "And happy for you, too," Susannah continued. "If you love your Mr. Archibald even half as much as I love Roger, then I know everything will be all right."
"And I owe it all to you, Sukey," Catherine said. "Your wise counsel helped me to decide what to do. Or scared me into doing it, I am not sure which. But you could not have been more right. I cannot imagine now that I almost turned my back on this happiness. I have never felt this free in all my life."
"Free?" Aunt Hetty asked. "Free of what, dear?"
"Oh, I do not know exactly," Catherine replied. "Free of worry, I suppose. Free of the burden to protect us all, no matter what. Free of my compulsion to seek a fortune. Free to follow my heart. Oh, but, Aunt Hetty, I am not completely free of worry. I still worry about you. With Susannah and me both here at Chissingworth, what will you do? Will you keep the house in Chelsea?"
"No, I do not think I will. As it happens, I have had something of an offer myself," she said with a sly grin.
"Aunt Hetty!" both sisters shrieked in unison.
"Do you have a beau?"
"Are you going to be married?"
"Who is it?"
"Why did you not tell us?"
"When is the wedding?"
"It is Sir Quentin Lacey, is it not?"
"Is it Mr. Gilchrist?"
"Is it Sir Isaac Crisp?"
"No, it is Lord Holbrooke. I know it is Lord Holbrooke."
"No, no, and no!" Aunt Hetty said, waving her hands and laughing. "I am not to be married, you silly girls."
"But, you said you had an offer," Susannah said.
"Not an offer of marriage," Aunt Hetty said. "The duchess has asked me to stay on at Chissingworth as her companion."
"Oh, my goodness!" Susannah exclaimed. "Then we shall all three be living together, just as always."
"Why, yes, we will. I had not thought of that."
"Oh, Aunt Hetty," Catherine said, giving her aunt a quick hug. It seemed a morning for hugs and kisses. "I am so pleased. I hated to think of you returning to Flood Street all alone."
"And I shall be here to watch both of you with your young men. And to see your children as well, when they come along."
Both sisters glanced at each other and blushed.
"What a wonderful day this is for us all," Aunt Hetty said. "And tonight, a ball to top it off."
"That reminds me," Catherine said. "Since Stephen's position does not allow him to attend the ball, it would be best if our betrothal is kept quiet until after the party. It would not be right to make it known when he cannot be there to share in the good wishes." And, Catherine thought, it might be embarrassing to Lord Strickland to discover I had thrown him over for the head gardener.
"Do not worry, my dear," Aunt Hetty said. "We will say nothing. You will have our silent good wishes for now."
"And do not be surprised if you see me sneak away early," Catherine continued. "I promised Stephen to meet him in the gardens after the duke's announcement."
"The duke?" Aunt Hetty's eyebrows shot up under her cap. "The duke is coming to the ball?"
"That is what Stephen tells me," Catherine said. "To announce his own betrothal. But perhaps that is meant to be a secret."
"My, my, my," Aunt Hetty said, shaking her head and smiling. "This should be most interesting. Most interesting indeed."
"It seems everyone at Chissingworth is finding new happiness," Susannah said. "Even the poor mad duke. Isn't that nice?"
Something set Aunt Hetty off, and she began to giggle. Catherine had no idea what could possibly be so funny, but her aunt did not seem to be able to stop laughing. Catherine and Susannah looked on in helpless ignorance as the older woman laughed and laughed until tears ran down her cheeks. Their aunt's mirth was infectious, and soon all three ladies were giggling over Catherine knew not what. Aunt Hetty finally gestured that she had to leave. Her hands fluttered in farewell as she opened the bedchamber door and stepped out into the hall. When she had closed the door, they heard one great shriek of laughter and then the sound of giggles slowly fading away as she must have walked down the corridor.
"Now what do you suppose that was all about?" Catherine asked.
"I have no idea," Susannah said. "But she is acting very queer, don't you think?"
The two sisters commiserated over their aunt's behavior, and then, after more hugs and kisses, parted for the morning.
Most of the female guests would be spending the day preparing for that evening's ball. The Forsythe sisters were no different. There were leisurely baths to take, freshly washed hair that needed drying, and last-minute additions of trim and such to ball gowns.
Catherine took special care with her toilette because she wanted to look nice for Stephen when they danced in the garden. Her dress was composed of a blush pink embroidered crepe robe. The embroidery was delicate and distinctive, and Catherine hoped Lady Fairchild would not recognize it. The dress itself had been completely transformed. Susannah had decorated the hem with a deep Vandyke fringe salvaged from one of their mother's old dresses. The wrist-length sleeves had been cropped and gathered into a short melon sleeve. The bodice had been raised slightly and the back lowered to echo the scoop of the neckline. A pink satin underdress had been provided by another old dress of their mother's. Catherine was very pleased with the overall effect, which was very soft and feminine. She felt pretty enough to celebrate her betrothal, even in the privacy of the garden.
Just before dinner, Molly arrived with a beautiful nosegay of pink violets. The accompanying note said only "I love you," and was signed with a big, scrawling "S." Catherine held the note to her breast for some minutes, thinking she might burst into tears once again. But the little maid, excited to be preparing her ladies for a ball, was too exuberant to allow Catherine a moment of sentimental reflection. She fussed over the flowers, trying them first in Catherine's hair, then deciding they should be pinned to the bodice. She made a few last-minute adjustments to the coiffure and announced herself satisfied.
"You and Miss Susannah will be the prettiest girls at the ball," she said, beaming with pride.
Catherine had not worn any more jewelry since her encounter with Lady Gatskyll. But this was a ball, after all. One had to wear something. She discarded anything with gemstones that might be recognized, as well as pearls with a distinctive clasp. She settled on a simple gold chain with an engraved locket. She folded Stephen's note into a tiny square and placed it in the locket. With both his flowers and his note close to her heart, she felt ready to face the world.
Dinner seemed endless, so impatient was she to get on with the evening. She was seated next to Sir Bertram, whose garrulous manner did much to disguise the fact that she said very little. Her eyes darted a few times toward Lord Strickland at the other end of the table. He caught her glance once and smiled warmly, and Catherine breathed a little easier. She had been worried that he might be embarrassed, but he did not seem to be so.
Catherine supposed it was she who ought to be embarrassed. The earl had not been the one to make a complete fool of himself. He was not the one who had become an uncontrollable watering pot. But she could not bring herself to be embarrassed. She was too relieved and too happy to feel bad about anything.
After dinner, Sir Bertram escorted her into the ballroom, where scores of other guests from the neighborhood had joined the party. There was no formal receiving line, since the duchess was the sole hostess. But she dashed about making each guest feel welcome.
The musicians began warming up for the first set, and gentlemen scurried here and there to secure partners. Since Catherine had already pledged the first set to Lord Warburton, Sir Bertram exacted a promise for a later set and took himself off to find a partner for the opening minuet.
Lord Warburton led her ont
o the dance floor and presented her with a very elegant leg while she curtsied to him. They circled and separated and came together again in the slow, formal movements of the old French dance. Catherine had to bite back a smile as her young partner struck a dramatic pose with each pause in the mincing steps, as he exaggerated each point of the toe and tilt of the head. It was a dance just made for the foppish young lord and Catherine became quite caught up in the ridiculous artificiality of it.
The minuet was incongruously followed by a lively Scottish reel in which Catherine was partnered by Mr. Brooke. She was quite enjoying herself, for she had never before attended a real ball. Even so, her thoughts often strayed to Stephen, hoping she would soon be able to make her escape and join him in the garden.
Lord Strickland claimed her for the quadrille. Catherine was pleased, for she had worried that he might ignore her. She really was quite fond of him, as she had discovered the night before when he had been so understanding and so kind. She would hate for him to think ill of her. She smiled as he bowed over her hand.
"You seem in much better spirits this evening, Miss Forsythe," he said.
"Indeed, my lord," she said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment once again over her behavior last night.
"Might I assume that your good spirits have something to do with that other gentleman you mentioned?" he asked.
Catherine's cheeks flamed even hotter at his question. How must she respond? How could she admit to having rejected him one minute, and accepted the offer of "that other gentleman" the next? The steps separated them briefly, but as they faced each other once again, his raised brows begged a response.
"Yes, my lord," she said softly, unable to meet his eyes. "You are quite correct."
"Then, I take it that situation has been satisfactorily resolved?" he asked.
Surprised that he would continue to pursue this topic, she looked up at him. "Yes," she said as she crossed the square of dancers to bow and twirl with one of the other gentlemen. She wished Lord Strickland would drop the subject altogether, for she really was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable.