by Jane Goodger
Perhaps what made this worse was knowing she would never see him again. Even if, by some coincidence, she ended up in the same room as the marquess, she could hardly approach that man and ask after his valet.
“It’s for the best,” Clara had said. “You know nothing could have come of it.”
She’d swallowed past the lump in her throat—the lump that now seemed to be a permanent fixture there—and nodded her head, saying, “Perhaps you are right.”
But Clara wasn’t right. Katherine was twenty-one years old and had met scores of men and not one had made her feel even a smidgeon of what she felt with Gray. She’d never even gotten the chance to ask him if his mother had named him because of his remarkable eyes. She’d never gotten the chance to ask him all sorts of questions, such as whether he liked museums or if he’d read Dickens. Or if he liked children and ever thought of marrying.
And now she was going to have to spend one week at a house party with people she didn’t know and be charming and pretend to be happy and suffer her mother’s obvious matchmaking efforts. It was all so wretchedly tedious, and Katherine just wanted to go home.
“How much longer will it be?” she asked no one in particular. They’d taken the rail from Brighton to north of London and were now in a coach provided by Lord and Lady Haversly. She was exhausted from getting little sleep while in Brighton, as well as the trip north to Essex.
“I think we’re very nearly there. I thought I saw us pass through a gate quite a bit ago,” Elizabeth said. She was strangely cheerful and excited about this house party, which made Katherine nervous. Her mother was always scheming to get her in the same vicinity as anyone with a title. That was what their trip to Brighton had been all about, after all.
Thankfully, her mother hadn’t gotten wind of the fact that the Marquess of Avonleigh was not four blocks from their hotel. She would have no doubt made a cake of herself trying to get an invitation. Part of Katherine felt sorry for men like Avonleigh, lords who were no doubt ill equipped for a modern world that required that men make their fortune themselves. Then to have women hounding them and coveting their titles had to be a bit distasteful. And no man, no matter how desperate, should be sentenced to a life with Claudia Von Haupt. Still, how could she feel sorry for a man who was willing to marry a girl like Claudia just to get at her millions? She’d heard from a very good source—Clara—that the family was actually considering offering the marquess a dowry of one million pounds plus a ridiculous fifty-thousand-dollar-a-year allowance. He would probably sprint down the aisle for that sum. What man wouldn’t?
Gray would live in better conditions with the marquess doing so well for himself. He would probably get more income, perhaps have more luxurious quarters. But he would still be a valet, and she would still be an heiress with a title-hunting mother. Katherine looked out the window and saw in the distance Briarbrook, the Haverslys’ country estate. She shook her head at the size of it. “There’s Briarbrook. It certainly is impressive.”
Clara craned her neck to see the sprawling mansion, and she let out a long “oh” when she saw it. The home was a stately structure three stories high with windows on each floor that looked as if they went floor to ceiling. The grounds were impeccable, with a large expanse of green lawn stretching from the home to a small pond, where two swans, as if strategically placed, calmly drifted.
Her mother leaned forward to take a peek, then sighed. “Their son is married. Happily,” she said, as if that were a tragedy.
“Mother,” Katherine said. “You don’t truly think I’m going to find a husband on this trip, do you? I thought it was a bit of a lark for you, but lately I’ve gotten the feeling that you seriously believe someone will make an offer.”
Her mother looked at her as if she were a simpleton. “Why on earth do you think your father and I would have gone to such expense unless we were serious about finding you a title?”
Katherine sat back, stunned. Her mother was serious. How stupid of her not to have realized it, and yet she hadn’t. This trip, while tedious but for Brighton, had seemed only to be something to get through; once it was over, she could go back to her life. Her mother had been quite clear what this trip was about, but Katherine hadn’t thought her mother was so determined. She’d thought it was wishful thinking, a hope, not an all-out campaign to win a title.
“Will you be very disappointed if I don’t find a titled man?” she asked. “Because I truly do not think it will happen. No one has shown any interest in me at all.”
Her mother lifted one eyebrow. “That’s simply not true,” Elizabeth said enigmatically, and Katherine’s stomach clenched.
“What are you talking about?”
Her mother laughed. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, dear. No one has made an official offer.”
“How can anyone have made any offer at all? I haven’t met a single man I would even consider courting, never mind marrying.” Next to her, Clara let out a choking sound and Katherine gave her a subtle nudge.
The coach stopped. “Ah, here we are,” Elizabeth said, ending the conversation and leaving Katherine frustrated. Her mother and her maid left the coach first, helped down by an impressive-looking footman in blue- and gold-trimmed livery, and Katherine turned to Clara, whispering, “Do you know what she is talking about? Has anyone made any kind of offer?”
Clara seemed just as baffled as she, but that did little to ease Katherine’s mind.
In Katherine’s experience, a house party lasted one day, perhaps even over an entire weekend (a term she had discovered marked her as an uncouth American). These English trekked about from party to party for the entire months of August and September. Her mother had said there were several more such parties on their schedule before the start of the Little Season, and the thought made Katherine’s stomach twist.
After they’d been shown to their rooms—hers a sunny, yellow and white space overlooking the expansive gardens—her mother gleefully showed her a schedule that was mind-numbing. And also a bit frightening. It seemed reasonable to assume that the Marquess of Avonleigh would be found at one of these parties. The thought of being so close to Gray and being unable to talk to him was nearly unbearable. Would he see her and know she’d been lying? He would be humiliated, and no doubt think terrible things about her. And she’d deserve every awful thought.
“An infatuation,” Clara had said with a knowing nod. “You’ll forget him in no time.”
Katherine wasn’t so certain. She’d gone her entire life never becoming infatuated with a single man. Had she opened some sort of chamber in her heart that now allowed infatuations in more easily? And, now this was truly silly, she felt it was more than an infatuation. That if they had been two different people in another time, they could have fallen in love. That was a thought she pushed firmly away.
She stood at the window, idly watching a gardener pluck dead leaves and flowers from the multitude of plants placed in a precise diamond-shape, and fiddled with the mermaid necklace.
What was it about Gray that had so captivated her? Was it the way he looked at her, those gray eyes that seemed to touch her? His lips that curved up slightly, as if he were constantly fighting a smile? The way she felt when he touched her? Oh goodness, she could still feel his lips on her neck, grazing the fine hairs at her nape, making her entire body feel as if it were melting into a pool of pure desire. She smiled at that thought—and then realized she was smiling at a young woman below her who thought she was smiling a hullo.
“Hello,” she called down. The woman looked like a picture from a fashion plate, and Katherine grimaced inwardly. How would she ever attract a titled gentleman when her competition was someone like the woman standing below her? Her mother ought to take a good look at the lovely girl and book the first ship back to New York. The girl’s dark curls and pale skin gave her that wonderful, soft complexion that English men seemed so enamored with. A cascade of silk ribbons flowed down the front of her champagne-colored gown, defining her trim figure.
“Do come down and join me,” the girl called, then added, “You are the first person to arrive who isn’t ancient.”
Not wanting to shout, Katherine smiled and held out her index finger, indicating she’d come down to the garden in a moment. She quickly grabbed a straw hat and a light pair of gloves and hurried from her room. When she arrived, the girl was near the door, inspecting a late summer rose.
“Marjorie Penwhistle,” she said with a nod.
“Katherine Wright. And as I’m new to England, should I be putting a ‘lady’ in front of your name?”
“Oh, an American. Wonderful. And yes, a lady will do nicely but only in front of my mother. I’ll be certain to point her out to you. She has a perpetually sour expression and she loathes Americans. Which means you, darling, are my new favorite friend.”
Katherine laughed, completely charmed by her forthright manner. “That would be wonderful. I haven’t any friends in England as yet. At least none who will be at this party.”
“What brings you to our fair isle?” Marjorie asked.
“My mother, God bless her, hopes to find me a husband. I do believe she is sure to be disappointed. If I cannot find a husband in New York, I’ve little hope of finding one here.”
“A husband with a title perhaps?”
Katherine winced, but she found Marjorie’s candor refreshing and not at all rude. She couldn’t say for certain why she wasn’t offended; perhaps it was the way Marjorie talked, as if she didn’t care a fig what anyone did. “Yes. I’m one of those Americans. At least my mother is. Dreadful, isn’t it?”
Marjorie waved a dismissive hand at her. “As far as I’m concerned, you can have the lot of them. I’ve been through three seasons and found not a single man with whom I could have an engaging conversation. My mother insists conversation between a man and a woman is not important, but I will not spend the rest of my days staring at the back of the Times at the breakfast table and listening to my husband grunt in answer to my questions until he dies unceremoniously in the bed of a housemaid.” She said all this calmly, but she punctuated her sentence by swatting at a gnat with a resounding slap to her arm. Katherine looked at that little black corpse before Marjorie flicked it away and imagined it represented all those men who sat at the breakfast table reading the Times.
“You haven’t found a single man you liked even a little?” Katherine asked.
“I like all of them a bit. But none of them in particular. And I imagine one would strive to like one in particular if marriage was in the offing.” She looked directly into Katherine’s eyes and asked, “And what of you? Have you found anyone in particular?”
Katherine hesitated just enough to make Marjorie smile knowingly. “You have, haven’t you?”
“He was the most handsome man I’ve ever met. His name was Gray,” Katherine said impulsively. It felt wonderful to talk about him with someone who didn’t know the entire story as Clara did. “We met in Brighton. On the beach.”
Marjorie grinned. “Do tell me more.”
“My mother was ill much of the time we were there and I was dreadfully bored. I wandered down the beach one day. Unchaperoned.”
“No,” she gasped with satisfying horror and admiration. “Here, this sounds like a very good story. Let’s sit,” Marjorie said, and led Katherine to a small bench.
“It is a good story. A wonderful one,” Katherine said. Once she was seated, she turned slightly toward her new friend and related the story of how Gray had rescued her from near drowning. She did like to embellish a bit when she told a story. She also knew enough about the British aristocracy not to divulge the fact that Gray was a member of the servant class, knowing that would be frowned upon even by the most tolerant. So she invented a man who was very much like the Gray she’d met, but made him simply a gentleman who’d happened to be in Brighton on holiday.
“I knew nothing could come of it, but the more I got to know him, the more I wished there wasn’t such a divide in our stations,” she said wistfully. “He is my Heathcliff, but with slightly less tragedy and drama.”
Marjorie laughed. “Oh, I adore anything by the Brontë sisters. My mother dislikes such romantic fluff, but I must confess Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books. Wuthering Heights was a bit dark for me. All that palpable longing and such a dreary ending.”
“It’s never good when the important characters die, is it?” Katherine said, grinning.
Marjorie was thoughtful for a moment. “Do you really care for this man?” she asked tentatively.
Katherine examined her gloved hands for a moment before nodding. “If he’d been someone different, if I’d been someone different, I think we might have fallen in love,” she said softly.
“Oh dear.”
That “oh dear” didn’t sound judgmental, but it occurred to her that she didn’t know Marjorie at all and had just divulged her greatest secret. The cat was out of the proverbial bag, and she suddenly regretted saying a word about Gray to her. She knew from experience how spiteful other girls could get. Just thinking about what Claudia Von Haupt and her mother had done should have been enough to make her more cautious about whom she considered a friend.
“If you’re worried I will tell anyone your story, you needn’t be,” Marjorie said, and Katherine looked at her with surprise.
“I was worried, actually. This has been bubbling up inside of me all day and I felt I needed to tell someone.”
“But you don’t know me.”
Katherine shook her head, feeling foolish. “No, I don’t.”
Marjorie smiled. “You needn’t worry. Everyone is entitled to one secret, aren’t they?”
“Yes. One. Do you have one?”
Marjorie gave her an impish smile. “Of course, but I’m not foolish enough to tell a complete stranger.” She laughed, and Katherine joined her. “Your secret is safe with me,” she said once she’d gained control of herself. “You’ll learn soon enough I don’t have a spiteful bone in my body.”
“I do,” Katherine said feelingly, then laughed. She eyed the other woman’s dress, hoping to turn the conversation to something less personal. “Is that a Worth?”
Marjorie looked down as if she’d forgotten which dress she wore. “Yes. Nothing but the best for me,” she said brightly, but something about her tone made Katherine think Marjorie somehow resented that fact.
“My mother hopes to get me in to see Mr. Worth, but I truly don’t care what’s on my back as long as it covers me. I don’t think we’ll have time to go to Paris at any rate. Thank goodness Mother has an eye for current fashion because I am truly hopeless.”
“You haven’t an appointment?”
“I’ve told my mother he turns people away, but she’s determined. One of our acquaintances has a daughter with a closet full of Worth, which she manages to insert into every conversation, I might add, and I think it drives my mother a bit mad at the thought that her own daughter doesn’t have a single Worth gown.”
Marjorie narrowed her eyes. “I think I may know this acquaintance.”
“Truly?” Katherine asked, giving her a curious look.
“Perhaps a Miss Von Haupt?”
Katherine looked at her incredulously. “How on earth could you possibly know . . .” Then it dawned on her. “You’ve met them. Obviously.” She tried to determine what Marjorie thought of Claudia, but couldn’t read her. It wouldn’t do to disparage Claudia if Marjorie considered her a friend.
“They are an interesting family,” Marjorie said with obvious caution.
“Yes,” Katherine said, just as cautious. “Very . . .”
“Ambitious.”
The two girls grinned at each other. “She is the bane of my existence,” Katherine said finally.
“I find her completely objectionable,” the other girl said, seeming proud to have found just the right word. “I’m so glad you’re not like her.”
“Claudia and I have a bit of bad blood between us, I’m afraid, so I cannot be at a
ll impartial.”
“Oh?”
“Her mother—and I really cannot blame Claudia for this, even though she likely delighted in it at the time—prevented nearly everyone in New York from attending my coming-out ball.”
Even now, four years later, it made her sick to her stomach to think about her mother’s disappointment that night when only a handful of the people she’d invited—most of them elderly—walked through their doors. Her mother had spent weeks—and a great deal of money—planning the ball. At first, it had been as baffling as it was devastating when only a few of their guests planned to attend. Katherine had wondered if she were truly that disliked by all her friends. It soon became quite clear, however, that Suzanna Von Haupt had threatened and cajoled everyone on their guest list into not attending. Katherine had been stunned and hurt; she’d considered Claudia somewhat of a friend and had been completely unaware of the history between Claudia’s mother and her own. Her mother told her soon after her coming-out disaster.
Her mother had referred to Mrs. Von Haupt as “that woman” for years. Katherine had naïvely assumed it was simply that the two women didn’t get along. But there was far more to their story. It turned out Mrs. Von Haupt had married a man who’d been desperately in love with Katherine’s mother and had made no secret of his desire over the years. Her mother had always insisted she’d never reciprocated Mr. Von Haupt’s feelings, but the animosity between the two women was apparently legendary in New York society. Mrs. Von Haupt lived in a perpetual state of humiliation, and over the years had made it her life’s work to prove to the world—or at least to New York’s elite—that she was better than Katherine’s mother.