He wondered if the travelling players would be engaging enough that he might at least share a look, or even a word or two, with the beautiful Lady Catherine Ambrose.
And she was beautiful too. He had noticed her time and again in the last couple of years since she had blossomed and he had grown up enough to notice. But, until he had actually spoken to her that evening at Lord Vinton’s, she had simply been the object of his idle curiosity.
Thomas had never imagined for a moment that he would ever get to know the woman. The feud between the families was something that had always existed in Thomas’ lifetime and, therefore, was a habit, even for him.
“We are to have a play. Only for a few minutes, perhaps half an hour, for it is just a simple, short little tale. But I thought it might make a nice change and add a little something to the afternoon.”
“It most certainly shall. How clever of you, Lady Morton,” Thomas enthused whilst Pierce simply nodded and began to look bored.
“Well, enjoy the afternoon, gentlemen.” Lady Morton smiled before fluttering away to greet her next waiting guests.
“Must you always be so damned enthusiastic?” Pierce muttered disdainfully under his breath. “Must you behave so grateful for every invitation?”
“What on earth is wrong with that?” Thomas said even though he already knew the answer.
“You are the son of the Duke of Shawcross. Our family honours such minor establishments as this with our presence.”
“I am afraid I do not see things as you do.”
“Then it is just as well you will never hold a title greater than the one you have now,” Pierce said dismissively.
Thomas was inclined to be angry about his brother’s arrogance, not to mention the insult, but he did not want to set Pierce against him for the afternoon. He wanted things to be easy, to have a flow to them.
After all, he did not want to miss an opportunity to have a minute with Lady Catherine by being at odds with Pierce. He wanted Pierce to concentrate on the little play he had turned his nose up at, just long enough for something of excitement to happen in Thomas’ world.
The play started a little earlier than Thomas had assumed it would, however, and he had barely had time to fix Lady Catherine’s exact location in the immense drawing room before the whole thing began.
Pierce was fidgety; he was undoubtedly agitated by the speed of things also, not having had much chance to pick at the buffet tables before all eyes turned to the makeshift stage. As such, it was clear that Pierce was not going to concentrate on the thing at all. And, as much as Thomas had wanted to get to Catherine, he knew that it was too big a risk.
Even peering across at her was something he could only do cautiously. And when he did, he almost gave himself away. Catherine was wearing a pretty ivory gown with tiny blue flowers and a thick blue ribbon at the bust line. Her hair was up again with that same tiny comb she had worn to Emily Barton’s, its flowers barely visible to him from across the room.
Her appearance was pretty, and her face was beautiful. And at the moment he caught her eye, and she gave him the briefest, most secret of smiles, Thomas felt as if he were falling backward through the air as if he had fallen off a cliff and was plummeting. She really was the most beautiful of women, but he knew there was more to it. Perhaps it was the excitement; the fraternization with the enemy, as it were.
But he could never see her as the enemy, and he was sure that he never had. One thing was for certain, however, and that was that he would never see her as the enemy in the future either, whatever happened in their respective worlds.
The play came to an end and Thomas, not having heard a word of it, felt guilty when Lady Morton looked at him for a silent seal of approval. All he could do was smile and nod enthusiastically, although that appeared to be more than enough to satisfy her.
Within minutes of the play’s end, Pierce was eating from a large plated selection of food from the buffet tables. Still, even that did not have him fully occupied, and Thomas had to admit that he would likely suffer the rest of the afternoon not having one single opportunity for romance.
He could hardly believe how frustrating the whole thing was, especially when he had only ever spoken to Lady Catherine on two previous occasions, and each of those had been for a matter of minutes and no more.
How could he be so determined, almost desperate, to have just a minute or two with her now? What did it really matter to him?
“What is wrong with you? You are distracted today,” Pierce said gruffly as he eyed him keenly.
“I am perfectly well.”
“Who are you looking at?”
“What?” Thomas said and had the awful feeling he was about to be discovered. “I have not been looking at anybody.”
“Your head snaps around as if it is on a spring. I say that you are looking at someone.” Pierce, when he was being arrogant, looked ever more like their father.
Pierce looked more like their father altogether, having his father’s dark hair and heavy brows, whereas Thomas had taken after their mother. And it seemed that the Duke liked the idea of a son who looked just like him. It was expected after all.
So, Pierce had done the right thing by being born first and having the good grace to be the very image of his father, and Thomas had wandered along second with his mother’s reddish hair and pale blue eyes. In short, he would have been a disappointment if his father had known he was there at all.
“Unless you count Louisa Ravensthorpe. She is always worth a moment’s appreciation.” Thomas lied; he had never taken the slightest interest in Louisa Ravensthorpe and never would.
“No, I do not think her worth a thing. She would not do for me at all. But then I have higher standards and expectations.” Pierce, pleased with himself for finding the slimmest opportunity to be self-satisfied and arrogant, smiled inwardly before returning to the buffet tables.
Thomas took a moment to feel outraged on Louisa Ravensthorpe’s behalf before wondering if his brother had been adequately diverted. He studied his back for a moment and could see no reason why Pierce might know his brother to be lying.
For one thing, Pierce did not know Thomas well enough to see the signs of a little untruth and, for another, he was sure that his brother would never imagine him to be foolish enough to form some sort of attachment to the daughter of the Duke of Shawcross; it was tantamount to making a deal with the Devil.
With Pierce still intent upon eating his way through the afternoon, Thomas risked another look in Catherine’s direction. Emily Barton had left her side for some reason, although he hardly imagined it would do him any good. Thomas knew he could not risk any attempt at conversation. After all, his brother had only to turn around, and the whole thing would be over.
But he could get just a little closer, could he not? He could drift by her and satisfy at least a tiny part of his newfound longing.
Thomas moved immediately, not wanting to be thwarted by either Emily Barton’s return or his brother’s sudden change of position. He stepped quickly and easily through the crowd, only slowing as he reached her. He cast a final look at Pierce and was satisfied that he was still diverted. When he looked up again at Catherine, he realized she had seen his approach, and he gave her the briefest, most secret of smiles.
Catherine, as cautious as he, cast her eyes around the room before returning that secret smile. Thomas did not even nod as he passed her, he knew she did not need or want such open acknowledgement. In their own way, they had already acknowledged one another, and Thomas felt it to be very much more intimate than if they had been able to speak freely.
As he passed her, Thomas had breathed deeply. There was a delicate fragrance about Catherine, something floral; jasmine, perhaps. It was just a hint on the air, a clean, fresh scent. Certainly, it was not the cloying, overpowering scent designed to mask the lack of bathing rituals that was common even among their own class.
Whatever it was, it was heavenly to him, and all he wanted was to turn aro
und and breathe her in all over again. But he did not; he made his way over to his brother and tried to take an active role in the rest of the afternoon.
Finally, Pierce found himself in the sort of sycophantic company he enjoyed. It made Pierce feel powerful and superior, and Thomas could almost see his brother grow taller under such attention. That being the case, Thomas was a little freer now, for his brother had no use at all for him.
But, just as things were finally working in his favour, Thomas realized that Lady Catherine was nowhere to be seen.
Checking that he was still unobserved, Thomas made his way out of the drawing room and hovered not far from the entrance hallway. There he could see Lady Catherine, a deep blue cloak around her shoulders, tying a matching bonnet over her lovely brown curls.
Lady Morton was chattering to her, getting ready to say farewell to her guest. It looked to Thomas like Catherine would be leaving alone, and he wondered if he might have the smallest opportunity now.
Whilst the two women were distracted with their goodbyes, he sneaked past them and out through the door. He darted away quickly, not stopping until he reached the neat, tall box hedging that shielded the townhouse from the street beyond on all sides.
Undoubtedly, Lady Catherine’s carriage would be among those lining the street outside, and he did not want her to be seen talking to him by her father’s driver. Servants could never be entirely relied upon, and the driver might have such strong loyalties to the father that he would sacrifice the daughter. No, he had another plan entirely and waited, hardly daring to breathe, until she finally came out.
He could hear the sound of her footsteps only, which was a relief to him and, when he stepped out from the box hedging, he was even more relieved to see with his own eyes that she was alone.
“Lord Thomas!” he hissed, and there was a flash of annoyance on her face.
“I am sorry to startle you,” he said and then took a further risk by lightly grasping her arm and leading her to stand with him behind the hedging.
“You did give me a fright,” she said and laughed. “I almost struck you, actually.”
“I do not blame you,” he whispered.
“You do know we cannot conduct a full conversation behind this hedge. We will either get caught, or your brother will realize your absence and grow suspicious. Now do tell me what it is you have to say, and then you must release me.” Despite the firmness of her words, Thomas could see in her soft, almond-shaped eyes that she was pleased to see him, pleased to have these few stolen moments.
“I shall come straight to the point, Lady Catherine. I really must see you.”
“You can see me. I am standing right here.”
“No, I mean for longer than a few seconds,” he said with a hint of amused exasperation. “I like you very much already, and I want to speak to you properly.”
“I see,” she said and looked as if she was really, really thinking about it.
“Look, you need not answer me this instant. I will go out to Stromlyn Lake on Friday morning, and I shall wait for you. I will wait the whole morning and, if you do not come, then I shall take that as your answer.” He smiled at Catherine and felt moved to be in such proximity to her.
“I have to go, Thomas,” she said, and her smile, before she left him, gave nothing away.
He watched from his vantage point for a moment as she hurried down the street and hoped against all hope that she would go to Stromlyn Lake on Friday.
With a sigh, he hurried back into the townhouse, surprised to see Lady Morton still hovering in the entrance hall.
She smiled at him knowingly, and Thomas panicked, realizing he had not thought the whole thing through properly.
“Lady Morton … I …” He faltered, knowing there was nothing he could say.
“Please do not fear, Thomas. I have no intention of giving you away my dear boy,” she said kindly and took his arm, slowly walking him back towards the drawing room. “Why would I upset the lives of two of the nicest young people I know?”
“Forgive me, I panicked.” Thomas looked ruefully at her. “But she is so very beautiful, is she not?”
“The most beautiful. And precious too.” She patted his arm as they walked. “So precious that she should be looked after properly. Many is the time I wished she were my own daughter; then she would be free.”
“You are very kind.”
“I did not mean to spy on you, but I thought you might need a little subterfuge to get you back into the drawing room.” She smiled mischievously. “Your brother is not as dull-witted as you suspect him to be.” Thomas was dumbfounded; how on earth had Lady Morton perceived his feelings for his brother. “Do not take that for granted, for he would give you away in a heartbeat.”
“I shall heed your wise words.”
“And allow me to be your alibi my dear, should your brother wonder where you have been.” She was whispering now as they re-entered the drawing room. “For you have been out in the entrance hall with me admiring my new portrait.”
“Quite so,” Thomas said and felt his old enthusiasm returning. “And what a lovely portrait it is too.”
“Oh Thomas, what a fine, silly boy you are,” she said and laughed warmly.
Thomas realized there and then that he truly had a friend in Lady Morton.
Chapter 4
Stromlyn Lake was much nearer to Catherine’s home than Thomas’, and she was glad of that. Catherine was often out in the countryside which surrounded her father’s estate, and it was a long-established habit.
It was a habit initially borne of the need to be away from her father in a way which did not excite his annoyance. But over the years, Catherine had come to enjoy it, seeing it as time to herself in an enjoyable, rather than an escaping, way.
She was a keen amateur botanist and liked to mentally chart the seasons by observing the flora and fauna all around. Flora and fauna were like clockwork, never letting her down. Mother Nature always knew what to do, overcoming extremes of weather and the interference of man to win through in the end. And all Mother Nature needed to do to secure her silent victory was show up.
Catherine liked the idea of a victory being something secret; something that even one’s greatest opponent would not be aware of. She knew, of course, that her line of thinking would not do for everybody.
The point of victory to most people would surely be the opportunity to gloat before your opponent. Perhaps that was the only real purpose of any struggle in the first place.
But Catherine’s victory, if there were one to be had, would be her own. It wasn’t that she wanted to show her father that she was a person, a human being, with feelings and her own wants, one who did not want to be married away to a disagreeable man of his choosing. In the end, it would make little difference if she did tell him.
No, Catherine did not want a victory that was so obvious. She did not want her father to simply know she was a person; she wanted to be a person. That was the difference. It wasn’t a victory with the opportunity to gloat; it was something quite divorced from any other person.
It was a quiet, personal thing. In order to truly win, perhaps all that was needed was for a person to be themselves; to live as they wished without the input or influence of any other person.
“I did not think you would come. Even though the morning is but half over, still I did not think you would come.” Thomas Carlton smiled at her, and his openness in the delivery of his own fears touched her.
“You should have had more faith in me.” She smiled at him and walked further along the lake’s edge to join him.
“It is not you I did not have faith in, but myself.” His smile was bright and wide, and his pale blue eyes really did seem to be the precise colour of the early spring sky. “I did not think you would find me fine enough company to meet me like this.”
“In that case, you should have had faith in yourself.” She laughed and patted his horse.
The horse was a beautiful brown-chestnut, its c
olouring not dissimilar to Thomas’ own. He had tethered the horse to a low hanging branch, close enough to the water’s edge that the handsome beast might take a drink.
“That was a nice compliment, so I thank you.” He grinned. “And perhaps I ought to return it.”
“No, wait until you have something come to you, rather than hastily trying to think of something. I would prefer it that way.”
“Then that is what you shall have.” Thomas bowed.
“Why did you choose this place?” she said and looked all around. “It is beautiful but rather closer to me than you. I was able to walk here in half an hour, but you have had to ride some way.”
“I did not want to force you to travel when I do not mind it at all myself. And I like this place; it is always so deserted.”
A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 3