by Joan Wolf
She closed her eyes. Dear God, she prayed, help me to be good. Help me to be a proper young lady and not a disgrace to Edmund. Help me to be like Margaret. Amen.
Worn out from emotion, Catriona finally fell asleep.
Chapter Eight
Edmund was not the only member of her family to remark Catriona’s extreme popularity that Christmas season. Her great-grandmother noticed as well, and after all the guests had departed, she spoke to her grandson on the subject of Catriona’s future.
“Margaret will turn eighteen this January,” she began in a roundabout fashion. “In the spring she ought to be given a Season.”
Edmund took a sip of tea and looked at his grandmother. They had moved back into the family wing of the Castle now that the house party was over, and the duke and duchess were having tea in the comfortable salon they used as an informal drawing room.
“Yes,” he said after a minute. “I suppose she must. She’s a pretty enough girl. She will have a respectable portion. There should be little trouble in getting her married off.” He finished his tea. “You can’t possibly undertake to chaperone her, Grandmama. It would be too much. What about Aunt Fanny?”
“Yes,” the duchess replied slowly. “Fanny would do it if I asked her. And she was certainly efficient in getting her own girls off. Both of them married after their first Season.” Frances, Lady Dawley, was the duchess’s only daughter and elder sister of the duke’s father. “We may need her experience,” the duchess went on. “I am not as sanguine about Meg as you are. It didn’t seem to me as if she took very well this Christmas. There was a host of boys about the place, but none of them seemed to notice Meg.”
“Yes, well, it was rather difficult for her, with Catriona monopolizing the whole crowd of them,” Edmund said grimly. He put down his cup.
The duchess sighed. “I am afraid Meg is often overshadowed by Kate. Perhaps I should have done more to prevent it, but Meg has never seemed unhappy. She adores Kate.”
“So does everyone else,” came the terse reply.
The duchess looked worried. “Edmund, what are we to do about Kate? She will be eighteen in the fall. We must begin to make some provision for her future. Unlike Margaret, Catriona does not have a respectable portion.”
Edmund’s black brows drew together. He could look very feudal sometimes, his grandmother reflected. “Of course I will settle money on Catriona he said stiffly. “I have always intended to provide for her.”
The duchess smiled. “I thought perhaps you would. Thank you, my dear.” She folded her hands in her lap. “What do you think of a match between Kate and Frank Winthrop?"
Edmund looked thunderstruck. “Frank Winthrop?” he echoed.
“Yes. He was here quite frequently this Christmas, and I was watching him. It is obvious that he’s in love with Kate, and if we could assure the squire that she had a decent portion, I am quite certain a marriage could be arranged.”
"Grandmama, have you run quite mad?” Edmund was astonished and a little impatient. “The Winthrops may be very decent people, but certainly we can do better for Catriona than a bumpkin of a country squire. Frank Winthrop! I doubt he even reads.”
“That’s unfair, Edmund,” the duchess said quietly. “And you are forgetting, I fear, the circumstances of Catriona's birth. Her parents were not married. That may not weigh with us, who love her, but it will weigh with the world, I assure you.”
“Nonsense,” said Edmund, utterly contradicting his words to Catriona. “She is my cousin, your great-granddaughter. What else can possibly matter?”
“The fact that she is also a bastard,” the duchess said very sadly. “It has not touched her so far; she has no idea that her illegitimacy is a stigma. And I cannot bear to see her hurt, Edmund. If we marry her to Frank, she will always have security and stability. She will be placed in the midst of people who know and love her. She will never be the target of unkind or malicious words. And she will be close by, not lost to us, as she will be if she marries at a great distance.”
Edmund rose to his feet and went to stare out the window. “I must confess I find it hard to believe that Catriona is old enough for marriage,” he said over his shoulder. “Where have the years gone?”
“Where indeed?” sighed the duchess. “But she has come to the age at which marriage is the only means to settle her. She cannot continue here indefinitely, much as I should like her to. You will be marrying one of these days, my dear, and your wife would not care to have a girl of Catriona's age on her hands. No. We must marry her. It is the only solution.”
Edmund continued to look out the window. “Very well, then,” he said, and his voice was hard and strangely abrupt, “let her make her come-out with Margaret.”
There was a moment’s silence. “Think, Edmund,” said the duchess finally. “Do you really want to expose Kate to the ugly gossip of the ton?”
“You overestimate the importance of her parentage, Grandmama." He swung around. He looked preoccupied and a little impatient. “And Frank Winthrop is out of the question,” he said. “Will you write to Aunt Fanny or shall I?”
“I will write,” replied the duchess quietly.
“I will bear all the expenses.” Edmund walked to the door. “For both girls,” he added.
“That is generous of you, my dear.” He hesitated and then came back to kiss her cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner, Grandmama. She watched him leave with shadowed eyes.
* * * *
Catriona and Margaret were thrilled when they learned they were to have a London season together. Catriona had long been curious to see what it was that drew Edmund away from Evesham every spring, and Margaret had been thinking for some time about marriage. They were both delighted at the idea of new wardrobes and less than delighted about the idea of being chaperoned by Lady Dawley, who had always impressed them as being haughty and high-handed. But when she came down to Evesham Castle in March to talk to them and to the duchess, she was more accessible and less high in the instep than she had appeared to them previously. She had not been at Evesham for the Christmas house party, as one of her daughters had been lying in, so it had been well over a year since she had seen the girls she was undertaking to sponsor into the ton.
“Margaret should be no problem,” she announced to her mother and her nephew as they sat in the drawing room after the girls had gone to bed. “She is a pretty, well-behaved girl, and her family background is perfectly respectable. The Talbots are not noble, but if they were a good enough family for the Duke of Burford to marry into, then they must be considered good enough for anyone.”
Edmund raised an eyebrow. “Indeed,” he murmured. He sounded amused, and his aunt shot him a quick look. “Being half Talbot myself, I am of course relieved to hear of the family acceptability,” he explained placidly.
Lady Dawley continued to look suspicious but she let his remark pass. “I do not say that Margaret may aspire to the hand of a duke, of course,” she continued majestically. “She lacks the particular elegance that characterized your mother, Edmund. But she will do well enough for a baron, I should think.”
Edmund glanced at his grandmother, and she smothered a smile as she caught sight of the glint in his dark-gray eyes.
“Margaret is a very good child,” the duchess said hastily. “She will give you no trouble, Fanny.” The duchess clasped her hands in her lap and leaned a little forward. “It is not Meg who concerns me, Fanny. It is Kate. What are her possibilities, considering her background?”
Lady Dawley sighed. “Really, it was very inconsiderate of Diccon to die before he got around to marrying Catriona's mother. It quite complicates matters.”
“Yes,” the duchess said quietly. “I realize that. What can we hope for?”
“It depends upon her dowry,” Lady Dawley replied bluntly. And both ladies looked at Edmund.
He didn’t answer Lady Dawley immediately, but sat quietly, regarding his polished evening shoe. His Indian-black hair was smoothly brushed, his flawl
ess hands lay lightly clasped on his knee, and his long, dark lashes effectively hid his eyes. No one else in London, his aunt found herself thinking, could match his air of quiet, graceful elegance. It was time he was thinking of getting married. He would be thirty next year. Finally he looked up. His expression was enigmatic. “She will have thirty thousand pounds,” he said.
“What!” Lady Dawley felt her jaw drop.
“Edmund!” came the duchess’s voice, clashing with her daughter’s. It was ten thousand more than Margaret had.
“Thirty thousand pounds,” he repeated firmly. “Enough to make her desirable but not enough to attract a fortune hunter. And I want to approve the man.”
“Well, of course, my dear,” the duchess said faintly. With an effort she looked away from him to her daughter. “Well, Fanny?” she said.
“With thirty thousand pounds I can marry her. There are still some families who won’t touch her, but thirty thousand will go a long way toward assuring her acceptability. As to her person, I can foresee no major problems. She isn’t pretty—she’s far too brown, unfortunately. But she has a great deal of vivacity.”
“That’s true,” the duchess said quickly. “Margaret may be the prettier, but it’s Kate who has the personality.”
Edmund rose to his feet with characteristic grace. "Catriona is a great deal more than pretty,” he told the ladies before him. He looked at his aunt. “You are going to have to watch her like a hawk.” His gray eyes swung to his grandmother. “You remember what happened at Christmas, Grandmama."
“She was very popular,” the duchess said to her daughter.
Edmund gave a harsh laugh. “It’s going to be a circus,” he said with a note of suppressed savagery. “I have some work to do in the library,” he threw over his shoulder, as he walked toward the door. “You ladies can thrash out all the details between you. I only stipulate that you stay at Burford House, Aunt Fanny. I want the girls under my roof. And you may send all the bills to me. Good evening.”
“Good evening,” replied his aunt rather faintly. “My,” she said, turning to her mother after the door closed behind him, “but Edmund is being autocratic.”
“He has a very paternal feeling for Kate,” said the duchess. “Now, Fanny, about clothes ...”
PART TWO
1817
It were all one
That I should love a bright particular
star
And think to wed it, he is so above me.
All’s Well That Ends Well
Chapter Nine
Lady Dawley took the girls to London in April, and they shopped for clothes. Catriona and Margaret were awestruck by the massive additions to their wardrobes she saw fit to purchase for them. There were walking dresses and morning dresses and afternoon dresses and evening dresses, new riding habits, and shoes and gloves and hats by the dozen.
“No one will want to marry us,” Catriona prophesied to Margaret. “They’ll be afraid they can’t afford us!”
Margaret giggled. “We shall both have to find a man who is as rich as Edmund.” She looked down at her new walking dress. “Do you think this makes me look too tall and thin, Kate?”
Catriona looked uncritically at her cousin. Margaret’s soft brown hair had been cut, and the fashionable shorter style made her brown eyes look larger. Her tall, slender figure was still immature, but she was graceful and held herself proudly. The discipline of Cousin Henrietta had seen to that.
“You look beautiful,” Catriona said sincerely. “I only wish I could complain of being too tall.” She looked down at her own small person. “Thank heavens narrow skirts are fashionable. They give me a little height. Don’t you think this dress is particularly smart?”
Margaret looked at her cousin. “Do you know what I have been thinking all week, Kate, as we’ve tried on dress after dress after dress?”
Catriona looked up. “No. What?”
“It doesn’t matter what you wear, Kate. Somehow one doesn’t notice if you are smartly dressed or dowdy. One is aware only of you.”
“Oh,” said Catriona doubtfully.
Margaret came over and gave her a quick hug. “That was a compliment.”
“Oh!” Catriona grinned at her. “Well, if it is true, what a lot of money Edmund has wasted.”
Margaret laughed and was about to answer when Cousin Henrietta came in. “You both look very nice,” she said approvingly. “Go along now. Lady Dawleyis waiting for you.”
“Yes, ma'am the girls chorused and hastened down the stairs.
Lady Dawley had planned a ball to mark the official come-out of Margaret and Catriona, and both the duke and the duchess came up to London a few days before it was to take place. They brought a host of servants with them; both Edmund and his grandmother planned to remain in London throughout the Season.
Edmund approved his aunt’s decorating arrangements, winced at her choice of guests for the dinner that was to precede the ball, but agreed that people like Lady Sefton and Lady Jersey were important to the girls’ future social success.
“And after all, Edmund, that is the point of this whole endeavor, is it not?” Lady Dawley had asked majestically.
“It is indeed, Aunt Fanny,” he had sighed. “But the patronesses of Almack's bore me to death.”
“I am sure they find you quite as tedious,” his aunt snapped back.
He grinned. "Touche."
Lady Dawley looked assessingly at her nephew. She didn’t really believe anyone found Edmund tedious. Aside from being the noblest, not to mention the richest, prize on the marriage mart, he was extraordinarily handsome and could charm the moon out of the sky when he exerted himself. So far he had shown no inclination toward marriage. He had had, one heard, several very comfortable arrangements outside marriage, but they did not interest Lady Dawley. His marriage prospects did.
“You will be thirty next year,” she said bluntly. “It is time you were setting up your nursery, Edmund. Margaret and Kate are not the only ones whose marriage you ought to be thinking of.”
He blinked. “I find this sudden concern with my age very distressing.” His voice was soft. “I am not quite in my dotage.”
“I did not say you were.” That soft voice of Edmund’s always made those who knew him wary. “I wish only to point out to you that your heir presently is your cousin, Laurence Faversham."
Edmund’s eyes were half veiled by his lashes. “That is a depressing thought,” he agreed.
Lady Dawley shuddered. “To think of Laurence Faversham as the next duke!”
“I am not in my grave yet,” Edmund said and now he sounded impatient. “You may leave me to fulfill my duty in my own time. Aunt. Your concern is Margaret and Catriona."
Lady Dawley knew when she had reached her limit. “Yes, Edmund. And I think you will be pleased with my arrangements for Wednesday’s ball.”
Lady Dawley's arrangements were flawless. And she was very pleased with the looks of her protégées on their great night. Margaret wore a dress of white spider gauze over a pale-pink satin slip. Her soft brown eyes were brighter than usual and, she had some color in her usually pale cheeks. Catriona's dress was simpler than Margaret’s. It was a primrose muslin that made her olive skin look warmly creamy rather than sallow. She was still too brown, in Lady Dawley's opinion, but there was no denying that her pale eyes were extraordinarily striking against that skin. And her new hairstyle gave her height and drew attention to the beautiful curve of her neck. She was small, but beautifully made. Lady Dawley thought she would do.
The dinner party, which consisted mainly of the ton’s more important hostesses and their spouses, went very well. Both Margaret and Catriona had been well trained and were neither unduly forward or shy. As the remainder of the guests began to arrive, Lady Dawley and Edmund stood at the top of the stairs to receive them. It was not until later in the evening that they were able to see what was happening in the ballroom.
They found Catriona dancing with the Marquis of Hamp
ton, one of the most notorious rakes in London. He was unmarried, had first lost and then won a fortune at the gaming table, and did not usually bother with young girls in their first season.
“Christ,” said Edmund’s voice in his aunt’s ear. “What is Catriona doing dancing with Hampton?”
“I don’t know,” replied Lady Dawley in distress.
“What did you invite him for?” Edmund’s face, when she glanced at him, was coolly unconcerned. He sounded savage.
“I invited his sister Louisa Hartley. She is rather a figure in the ton, Edmund, you know that. Hampton escorted her tonight. She said her husband was ill.”
The music came to a halt, and Catriona and the Marquis of Hampton began to walk back toward the duchess.
“Excuse me,” Edmund muttered and began to walk purposefully in the same direction. In two minutes he had skillfully dispatched the Marquis and with Catriona's hand on his arm was taking the dance floor.
“How the devil did you come to be dancing with Hampton?” he asked her irritably as they waited for the music to start.
“He asked me,” she replied simply. “He said his sister was a friend of Aunt Fanny’s.”
“Well, he is not at all the thing.”
“I liked him,” said Catriona. “He was telling me about some of the people who are here.” She glanced up at him, her eyes brilliant with impish laughter. “Actually, I can see why he might not be quite the thing,” she confessed, “but he is awfully funny.”