“Just a social call?” Papa asked. “I had thought that perhaps your papa had sent you with a missive or some such, since I occasionally assist the Home Office in small matters, or at least I have done so out of Kent.”
“No indeed, sir, I can assure you,” Cyril said archly. “My father and I seldom meet. I cannot imagine him seeking to speak with me, let alone having me play courier.”
Katherine saw her papa’s posture stiffen at the implication that Cyril was above being an errand boy, but perhaps he was. He was, after all, the First Beau. Katherine had seen during her only Season that some men came to Town to find work, and others to find amusement. Cyril was in the latter category, and would no more change his character than a cat would choose not to stalk mice.
The question of marrying him, then, lay squarely with whether or not Katherine could consent to accept his character as it stood.
Perhaps she could. What if Papa found a position for Cyril? He would not need the money, seemingly, but men did not labor merely for wages. Work was good for the soul—the devil making work for idle hands and all. Or would he prefer to work beside her, to build her dream of a thriving stud? A little toil might be good for Cyril, might remind him there was more to life than dancing and bon mots.
She vowed to learn where Cyril’s apparent wealth stemmed from, before she would ever consent to marry him, and felt relief at the decision. It was curious that she knew a great deal
about Benjamin’s money woes, quarterly allowance, and work, but had no inkling concerning the man to whom she had once been secretly betrothed.
Perhaps this journey to London had not been entirely wasted after all. She reached up to finger a lock of her hair that had grown long enough to have formed a ringlet at her nape. Just as she had given up cutting her hair, had given up donning lad’s clothing for the very adult fear of being caught out, so she was now giving up what she saw had been a childlike ignorance. Cyril had whispered in her ear that he loved her, and she had let the words fill her head, never questioning his sincerity, nor even stopping to hear what her own heart had to say.
No more. London had done that much for her anyway, making of her a woman grown. A woman who knew to listen to the still, small voice inside that cried out if something were right, or wrong, for her. She would use her head, as she always had, but she would no longer turn a deaf ear to her heart’s edicts.
And the first edict her heart now whispered was that she would do Benjamin no harm, not if she could help it, tonight or ever. Once she had sworn to herself that she would “repay him in kind”—would make sure to embarrass him in public as he had her. If last night’s slap and her senseless tears had not already done that, she would offer him no more injury. How could she, why would she want to carry out a meaningless vendetta against this man who had repeatedly gone out of his way to avoid embarrassing her?
She had said his brother was likely to disapprove of her, from her reputation, and Benjamin had not seized on that thought. She had been grateful for the grace with which he had turned away an opportunity to insult or blame her for the tangle their lives had become. When he had refused to explain to his family that he had won Katherine’s hand over, appallingly, a turn of the cards, something in her had changed toward him forever. Cyril might yet become her husband—but she wondered if he could ever be quite the friend Benjamin had proven himself to be.
So tonight was not, after all, for recriminations. She would have plenty of time to call them down on herself later. Tonight she must be glad for a chance to make a different last impression on Benjamin—she looked up almost eagerly when a knock
at the door was heard plainly in the parlor, where she had belatedly thought to ask Cyril to sit.
Jeremy Oakes opened the front door in place of the butler. “I wanted to speak with you, briefly,” Katherine’s eldest brother said to Benjamin by way of explanation. He stepped back, allowing Benjamin to enter the front hall.
Jeremy eyed the packages under Benjamin’s arm, then closed the door and stepped close, his mouth near Benjamin’s ear. “I wanted you to know that Papa told me and my brothers about the wager you had with Cullman,” he said in a very low voice.
“Ah. Is it to be pistols or swords at dawn?”
“Neither. Papa likes you, you know. He does not like Cullman, although he says he could probably find a way to put up with the fellow should he become a son-in-law. He shudders when he says it, however.”
“And you?” Benjamin asked, almost smiling despite Jeremy’s cool stare.
“I do not dislike you,” Jeremy spoke very frankly, eyeing Benjamin up and down. “Might like you, given time.”
“And what do you think of Cullman?”
“First Beau, my arse!”
Benjamin just stifled a laugh, and wondered if men could suffer from hysteria. He felt he could both laugh and cast up his supper. He would really rather just go in, present his gifts to Katherine, and leave, but he knew there was no possibility of bypassing her brother if Jeremy had gone to such trouble to speak with him.
“More like ‘First Churl,’ I say,” Jeremy expanded.
Benjamin put his free hand on the other man’s shoulder. “My good man, you have no idea how pleased I am to hear this. You will keep Katherine safe from him.” It was more a statement than a question.
“Papa pretends not to smell the stink on the man, but I smell it. And yes, I will make sure that Katherine never marries him. Speaking of dueling—too bad it is illegal.”
‘Too bad,” Benjamin said, and the two men grinned ferally at one another.
“Go give her your gifts. Nothing untoward, are they? I wouldn’t want to have to smash your face or anything.” Benjamin shook his head. “No, nothing untoward.”
“Good. Katie thinks you are all right. She doesn’t call ’em all right, but a good many. Her liking you makes your word good enough for me, Lord Benjamin.”
Benjamin nodded and turned toward the butler, who waited patiently by the parlor, where he had obviously been told to wait. He wondered fleetingly if the servant could hear his heart singing at the inane but ludicrously wonderful words “Katie thinks you’re all right”—but Jeremy touched his arm to halt him again.
“One other thing you might want to know,” Katherine’s brother offered. “Papa never let Cullman be alone with Katie, not once he realized Kate had, er, the charms of a young woman. Miss Irving was her constant companion, even when Kate thought she’d slipped the woman.” He blushed and shrugged. “Katherine . . . well, you have to give her some leash occasionally, you see? Miss Irving thought better a stolen kiss or two than an elopement that may or may not ever be sanctified, if you take my meaning.”
“I do. But, Mr. Oakes, a leash? On Katherine? Might as well leash the wind.”
Jeremy stared for a moment, then a wide grin spread across his face. “I see you know Katherine well enough.”
“Though I fear, too little and too late.” Benjamin felt his corresponding smile slip.
“So, what I am saying, is that when Papa said you were to be trusted with Katherine’s well-being, and Miss Irving was sent away—”
“Sent away?”
“She didn’t want to go, said it wasn’t quite decent, but Papa . . . well, as I said, Papa likes you. I think he hoped . . .” Jeremy’s voice faded away for a moment, and he sighed as a puzzled scowl settled across his brow. “But that kind of thinking has all come to naught, eh?”
Benjamin clapped the man on the shoulder again and said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Jeremy had to know what had happened last night. Whatever he knew, it was clear he also thought there was no mending this rift between his sis-
ter and Benjamin. That awareness bit deep into Benjamin’s chest, making his heart grow heavier yet.
He began to cross to the butler, then stopped short as he heard a familiar voice.
God save him, what had been going to be difficult now became horrific, for the voice belonged to Cyril Cullman. The man was wit
hin, waiting to be a witness to Benjamin’s dismissal forever from Katherine’s life.
Chapter 20
Benjamin entered the parlor, nodding to Sir Albert, who nodded in return. Benjamin made a point of turning his back to Cullman; he would ignore the man, and would say what he had to say. If Cullman minded the cut he’d just received, he said nothing.
Benjamin turned to Katherine, and gave her every ounce of his attention.
“Miss Oakes.” He wanted to call her Katherine, but they were in mixed company and he would not insult her by being too casual. Would there ever be a day when they could be so informal with each other again?
Why not? said a small, hopeful voice in his head. Was it really too late ... ?
The doubt on Jeremy’s face came back to him, grinding that small, hopeful voice into silence.
Benjamin reached to. set his packages on the table at Katherine’s left elbow. Letting his hands fall to his sides, he stood before her, searching her features. “I am glad you received me,” he told her with every ounce of sincerity he could put into his voice and his manner.
“Of course I will always receive you, Benjamin,” she said, and he did not think she was merely being polite. He thought there might be an echo of the old warmth between them yet in her voice. And she had used his Christian name, in company, deliberately. He reached to gather up both her hands in his. She did not pull them away, and he felt his shoulders relax, just a little.
“Open your gifts,” he instructed gently. He reluctantly released her hands, in order to sit in a chair near hers. “That one first.”
She took up the package he had indicated. It was not prettily wrapped, as was the gift tucked under Cullman’s arm, but was merely bound in brown paper and tied with string. For a moment Benjamin wished he had thought to embellish the wrapping, but then it struck him that if Katherine could be swayed to cherish a gift by nothing more than its wrapping, then she was not the Katherine he had come to know these past few crazed but inestimable weeks in her company.
As the string gave way and the paper was peeled back, Katherine’s eyes widened ever so slightly, and then she gave an “Oh!” that was half a laugh as well. She lifted the gift from the paper and laughed again, a plainish bound volume in her hands.
“’Tis a new journal,” she explained to her papa’s puzzled expression. “You know, like the ones in which I record my racing results.”
She turned back to Benjamin, blinked rapidly to hold back tears, making his heart plummet for a moment until he realized she was moved, not upset. She laid a hand over one of his where it rested on his knee. “Thank you. You knew I had nearly used up my latest journal.”
“We could not have you missing even so much as a day of results,” Benjamin said, amazed at the light tone he’d achieved, but then he sobered a little. “Seriously, Katherine”—now he did use her Christian name—“you are profoundly adept in this art of yours. Let no man tell you otherwise, or make you stop. Talent should never be wasted, regardless of gender. If you ever need another journal, or anything at all to achieve your dream, you have but to write to me and I will see it comes to you. You must promise to do that, because that is my second gift to you, and I know you are too gracious to refuse a gift.”
“Katherine Oakes, too gracious?” she said, her eyes laughing but her voice uneven, still attempting to hinder the fall of any tears.
“Promise me.” %
“I promise,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Now—” Cullman started to say, reaching for the gift tucked under his arm.
“Now open the journal,” Benjamin interrupted him, without even glancing at the other man.
Katherine did as he bid. Under the frontispiece a handwritten
sheet of foolscap had been inserted. She took it out, her hand shaking a little, her eyes misting over anew. Blindly she extended the paper toward her father.
He took it and glanced silently at its message. “It is a legal document stating Katherine’s cottage on Meyerley Creek is fitted for occupancy, to be assumed by her on her twenty-first birthday.” He lowered the document, glancing past it to give Benjamin a long look. “It is to be known henceforth, legally, as ‘Katherine Oakes’s School and Stable for Excellence in Horse Racing.’”
“You can have the name changed if you do not like it,” Benjamin said. “Or if you marry and change your name.”
“But this is a foolish gift. This paper means nothing,” Cullman said, sounding puzzled. “It cost Lord Benjamin nothing! He wrote it up himself.”
“I did indeed. It is, however, duly witnessed by Katherine’s solicitor, as you can see.” He pointed to the solicitor’s signature and seal at the bottom of the sheet of foolscap, then lifted his gaze to meet Katherine’s. “Although he is right. It has no real worth, but I thought it would please you.”
She did not speak, still blinking back tears, but she nodded.
“I have brought you more than one gift as well,” Cullman told Katherine, stepping between her and Benjamin, crowding against the knees of her skirt. Benjamin stood, not wanting her to be pressed between the two of them. Cullman slipped onto the seat in his absence, and handed her his gift, elegantly wrapped in white tissue bound by gold cording tied in elaborate loops.
Katherine took a deep breath, shook her head as though to clear it of cobwebs, and cast Benjamin a look, one elegant glance filled with genuine thanks. Only then did she unwrap Cullman’s gift.
Benjamin almost whistled, for he had priced the set of three handsomely bound volumes at Hatchard’s himself when first he had gone there upon settling in London, and had scarce dared touch them at the exorbitant price of fifty pounds for the three, let alone buy them. It was a scholarly set of volumes, the first being the poetry of Beowulf, the second the allegory of The Vision of William Concerning Piers the Plowman', and the third the romantic tale Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. They were
bound in finest kid leather, the titles impressed into the leather and gilded with real gold.
Katherine stared down at the volumes, unable to fail to see their intrinsic worth. Cullman stuck his thumbs in his vestpockets, positively smug.
She looked up, and set the books aside, on the table. “Mr. Cullman,” she said after one failed attempt to speak. “Thank you, they are lovely, but you must realize I cannot accept such an expensive gift.”
“What?” he cried, pulling his thumbs from his pockets, shock written across his face.
“They are lovely, but far too valuable.”
“You are not betrothed to Katherine,” Sir Albert attested. “I could never allow her to accept so dear a gift from a mere beau.”
Cullman sat back in the chair, scowling. “He gave her a house!” he snapped.
Sir Albert gave Cullman a speaking glance. “It was her house. He only gave it a name.”
“I have one final gift for you, Katherine,” Benjamin said from where he stood, suspending the argument between the other two men. He indicated the unwrapped package still on the table, while Cullman threw him a dark look.
“But do not open it now,” Benjamin said, taking a step back, as though his motion alone could stop her. He glanced at Cullman, then back at Katherine.
Her lips parted in understanding, and she gave the slightest of nods. Benjamin silently let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. It was a gift best left for when Cullman had gone. Gone forever, if Benjamin had anything to say in the matter.
“What is it?” Cullman asked, eyes narrowed.
“It is a ... a broken betrothal gift, if you like. I did not feel I could spend nearly a month betrothed to someone without commemorating the event in some small way. I am just returning something Katherine lost.”
Cullman’s interest in the package waned visibly. “Do I detect that you are finally leaving?” he asked rudely.
“Mr. Cullman!” Sir Albert remonstrated, but Benjamin waved his host’s outrage away.
“He is right, I am leaving.” He too
k another step back, then reversed his direction and crossed to gather up Katherine’s hands once more, where she stood up from her chair. “Goodbye, my dear. Do you know the worst of it?” he asked, almost able to force a laugh. “Telling Gideon and Elizabeth we are not to wed after all. They’ll have my head for having raised their hopes that I was to marry.”
Katherine smiled, an unsteady little smile that spoke of smothered emotions. Love? Hate? Weariness? “Do you,” she said quietly, shyly, making him wince because he’d never seen Katherine shy before, or call it timid, not once. “Do you know you may call, whenever you like, at the School and Stable for Excellence in Horse Racing?”
He managed a smile and a nod, covering the dance of delight inside his chest at the simple knowledge that Katherine did not banish him forever from her life.
She searched his face for a long moment, and he wondered if somehow he could arrange his expression to be exactly what she wished to see there—could everything then somehow be magically changed? She would fall into his arms and declare she had loved him secretly for weeks now....
There was some kind of twisted humor in that thought, that she be secretly in love with the false fiancй, and not with the fiancй whom she had been once affianced to in secret.. . .
But it was not humor she sought now. What did she look for in his face? What did she hope to find there before she spoke? Show her you love her, fool, screamed a voice that almost sounded rational in his brain. Let her see it on your face and damn your pride and damn the witnesses around you and trust her not to crush your heart—but, no!, it was too late, she had already looked away, looked down, her eyes fixed on his cravat.
The Bartered Bridegroom Page 22