Near the dining room, the scent of eggs and ham filled the air, beckoning her forward, but voices spilling into the hallway stopped her fast. Without thinking, she stepped to the side of the open door and out of sight of the two people inside.
“I still don’t understand your sudden desire to marry but I agree with Elizabeth—Cathleen’s changed you for the better,” Lady Malton said in her clipped tone.
“Am I to assume you now approve of my marriage?” Devon asked in a flat voice edged with exasperation.
“I haven’t decided yet, but if it means there’ll be no more talk of what that poor man did for you in France, I’ll certainly be happy.”
Cathleen clenched her fists and nearly marched in to confront the unfeeling woman, but held back. She was Devon’s mother and Cathleen had to remain cordial and allow Devon to deal with her as he saw fit.
“Your understanding is too touching,” Devon sarcastically replied.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to Elizabeth. The midwife is capable but hardly a suitable nurse.”
A chair squeaked over the wood floor, accompanied by the scratching of dogs’ toenails. Cathleen looked around for a place to hide, then stopped. She had no reason to fear the dowager countess. Standing up straight, she stepped into the doorway just as Lady Malton reached it. The dowager halted with a startled gasp, her pack of dogs swirling around her feet while her pinched eyes traveled up and down Cathleen.
“Do not let him prattle on about France,” Lady Malton instructed, her icy demeanor warming slightly. “It will do neither of you any good.”
Having dispensed her hard advice, she swept past Cathleen and up the stairs, her canine entourage trotting obediently behind her.
Cathleen continued into the dining room, meeting her husband’s tight lips with a smile. “With such motherly affection, it’s a wonder you turned out so well.”
“She was not so hard before my father died.”
“I see.” Cathleen selected a plate from the sideboard and helped herself to some toast and eggs, her anger at the dowager’s demeanor easing. “When did she arrive?”
“Early this morning. I sent for her last night when I sent for the doctor. Despite her questionable maternal instincts where I’m concerned, she dotes on Elizabeth. And it gives her great pleasure to terrorize the midwife and blame me for bringing Elizabeth here at such a time. She’s even ordered Dr. Manning to remain in case bed fever sets in.”
“Is Elizabeth in danger?” Cathleen froze at the table, leaving the footman waiting behind her with the chair pulled out.
Devon shook his head. “No. Mother insists on the doctor as a precaution.”
“Thank goodness,” Cathleen breathed, dropping into the chair.
“In fact, both the midwife and doctor say she and the baby are fine.” Devon reached over, covering her hand with his and squeezing it. “Thanks to you.”
“It was my pleasure to help.”
He leaned in close. “Someday, that will be us.”
She slowly withdrew her hand, pushing the eggs around her plate with the fork, her appetite gone. She snatched up her toast and began buttering it, scraping so hard with the knife, a hail of crumbs littered the plate.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She dropped the knife and bread. “I can’t bear children.”
He sat back, straightening the fork next to his plate. “You know this for a fact?”
She shook her head, not wanting to have this conversation at the breakfast table, especially after such a long night. But with him watching her, waiting for an answer, there was no avoiding it. “Thomas and I were married for five years and there never were any. Though after the first few weeks of our marriage, we saw each other so infrequently...” Her voice trailed off.
“I’m sorry.” He stared at her plate and the toast pieces littering the white surface.
“You’d never mentioned children. I assumed, like so many, illness or some other tragedy had befallen you.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. I should have told you before, but everything happened so fast,” she continued, afraid to look at him, to see the hate or disappointment marring his face at the realization that all hope for an heir was gone. Despite knowing him for only a few days, she’d let him into her heart and allowed herself to picture their future together. The idea it might prove to be nothing more than an illusion frightened her.
The clock on the mantle ticked loudly and she wiggled the ring on her finger, waiting through the agonizing silence until he spoke.
“There’s still hope. Perhaps it was only the brief time you had with your husband that prevented children.” He leaned into her, dropping a light kiss on her lips.
“Perhaps.” She laid her hand on his smooth cheek. A small hope flickered in her heart and she tended it cautiously, afraid to let it spark into a brighter flame. Devon was right. Though she’d loved Thomas and wanted a child, there had never been enough nights together.
Devon rose, drawing her to her feet. “We’ll simply have to try more often.”
“Now?” she exclaimed.
“Eager, are we?” He kissed her again with a passion she felt in her toes, leaving her slightly dizzy when he straightened. “We will, and soon, but first I have a present for you, to thank you for last night.”
“There’s no need to thank me.”
He laid a silencing finger on her lips. “Yes there is, but we must hurry before it rains again.”
Leading her from the dining room, they walked out the sitting room French doors and through the garden. Overhead, small patches of blue shone through the thick, dark clouds threatening rain. Holding tight to his hand, she followed him down the path to the stables, laughing with him while they ran through the grass. A light rain began to fall and they reached the stable door, both of them breathing hard, his boots covered with grass and mud and her hem wet.
“Close your eyes,” he commanded.
Cathleen obeyed, wondering if he’d bought her a new saddle or riding habit. No, it couldn’t be—there hadn’t been time. Maybe the stables were meant to distract her and the gift had nothing to do with riding. She squeezed his hands in anticipation, almost ashamed of her girlish excitement. But after such a difficult night, it felt good to enjoy the lightheartedness of the moment.
He led her deeper into the stable and the tart scent of dry hay and horses struck her. She could hear the animals moving in their stalls, and one whinnied a short distance away. Devon’s boots scraped over the wood and sand on the floor until he stopped and turned her to the side.
“Open your eyes.”
She found herself face to nose with the beautiful brown gelding she’d seen in the village yesterday.
“His name is Clover. He’s yours,” Devon announced.
“Mine? No, it’s too much.” I can’t afford him, she almost said, but those days were behind her now. The horse was hers to ride when she pleased, to be housed and fed like an animal this fine deserved, to never be sold to pay debts. She stroked his long nose, biting her bottom lip to keep the tears from falling.
Devon placed one hand on her shoulder. “You don’t like him?”
“I love him, thank you.” She hugged Devon close, burying her face in his neck. Please let there be a child, she silently pleaded, as his strong arms encircled her.
“Then what’s wrong?”
How could she tell him how much this meant? Not the horse or Malton Hall, but the sense of safety and security she felt waking up each morning in a bed of her own, with plenty to eat and someone who understood the trials she’d faced over the last two years. Stepping back, she wiped away a large tear and smiled, regaining her usual composure. “It’s not like me to be so emotional, but I’m tired from last night and the gift is so wonderful and unexpected. Where did you find time to purchase him?”
“Mr. Matthews, besides being quite a rigorous trainer, is excellent with horses.” Devon leaned against the stall, playing with a small piece
of hay while she stroked the horse’s neck, making the muscles beneath the mane twitch. “He was in the village yesterday afternoon and told me about it. While you were asleep this morning, I went to see it and knew it was perfect for you.”
“He is.”
She yearned to ride but the rain fell hard on the roof so they stood with the horse, chatting and enjoying the quiet of the stables and the pleasure of easy conversation. They didn’t speak of the past, or last night, or any of their old griefs. Instead they planned for the future, Devon telling her of the places they’d ride, Cathleen eager to see them and asking questions about the other Malton estates.
By the time the rain stopped, it was too late to ride and they returned to the house to rest and prepare for the ball. The butler met them in the study with two letters on a silver platter.
“These arrived for you, Lady Malton.”
Cathleen paused at the sound of her new name, amazed again to hear herself addressed in such regal terms.
“Not a note from your brother, I hope?” Devon asked, removing his damp coat.
Cathleen shook her head, picked up the letters and examined the unfamiliar handwriting. Breaking the wax seal on the first one, she moved closer to the fire to read the contents. “No, it’s only from a London apothecary with the prices of some herbs I requested.”
“That reminds me, I’d like you to make a liniment for my leg.” He handed his coat to the butler who laid it over his arm and left. Devon followed him to the door, locking it with one hand while the other worked loose his cravat. “Mr. Matthews believes it will help with the morning stiffness in my thigh.”
“I’ll start on it at once.” She broke the seal on the other letter, surprised to find a response from the shop owner in Bath saying the space was still available and to write at once if she wanted to lease it. She folded the letter and tossed it into the fire, startling slightly when Devon came up from behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.
“And that one?”
She turned in his embrace and stretched up on her toes to kiss the tip of his nose.
“Only a note forwarded from London regarding a place for my shop in Bath. I don’t need it anymore.”
“Indeed, you don’t.”
* * *
Devon tasted her moist lips as the smell of burning paper filled the room. He tried to ignore it and the suspicion sitting hard in his gut. He’d attempted to see the letter but she’d destroyed it too fast. Hopefully, it was a response to her inquiry and not some note from her brother.
His hands tightened on her back, wrinkling the cotton beneath his fingers. Bloody hell, why can’t I trust her?
Yesterday afternoon, he’d sat in the sitting room, close to the stairs, waiting for her to return from her ride. His irritation increased every time a maid or footman walked by, drawing him to the doorway and crushing his expectation. Fantasies of her at the Silver Swan with the Wellses, laughing and telling them his secrets and shame, had taunted him until Mr. Matthews returned from the inn. He hadn’t seen anyone who matched Lucien or Martha’s description and the publican didn’t recall a woman from the carriage staying on. The news lightened Devon’s mood but he continued to brood until the footsteps in the foyer proved to be Cathleen’s.
He’d rushed to the door, anxious to get at the truth of the matter, but her windswept hair falling around her face, her complexion flush and eyes bright from exercise, had taken his breath away. Even under his stern look, she’d met him without shame, making all his worries seem like the paranoid fantasies of a madman.
The smell of charred paper dissipated, leaving only her raspberry fragrance. She sighed, pressing against him, her fingers lightly brushing the back of his neck and his worries began to fade. He slid his hand along the curve of her waist, where his wedding ring caught the boning of the stays pressing through the soft dress. Desire filled him, trailed by the stronger need to be united with her heart as well as her body.
As he lowered her gently onto the settee, she arched and curved to meet the angles of him. He fought down a creeping panic. Alone with her, he felt more vulnerable than during any battle, knowing the growing thread between them could easily snap if she learned the truth about Hougoumont Manor. The pain of watching his friends fade away and his mother’s cutting remarks would mean nothing next to the hate he’d see in her eyes. Covering her body with his, he kissed her hard, letting the peace of her touch calm his fears. The truth would not destroy them. He wouldn’t let it.
Chapter Nine
Cathleen took Devon’s hand and stepped out of the carriage, hurrying up onto the first marble step to escape the mud left over from the rain. The light pink dress swirled around her like the faint music drifting out of Upland Manor. She inhaled the sharp scent of rain-soaked stone and horses, relieved to escape the confines of the carriage and the dowager’s cloying rose perfume. The ride from Malton Hall to Lady Upland’s had been made in silence, broken by short bursts of stiff small talk and the high-pitched whine of the dowager’s lap dog. Cathleen had hoped Lady Malton would remain with Elizabeth, but since the new mother and child were doing well, she’d decided to attend the ball.
Devon handed his mother down, careful not to jostle the small spaniel tucked under her arm. Cathleen fingered the heavy pearl earrings Elizabeth had loaned her for the evening, wondering what mischief the woman intended and if tonight might be a hint of what to expect in London.
“Shall we?” Devon offered his arm while his mother stood perched like a black crow on his other side. The only way to discover the dowager’s intentions was to go inside.
“Yes, please.”
The whispering began the moment they stepped into the pool of candlelight flooding through the open front doors. It followed them through the foyer and into the large ballroom at the far end. If Devon or his mother noticed, neither of them showed it and Cathleen did her best to emulate them, smiling kindly in the receiving line and ignoring the wide-eyed looks of surprise Lord and Lady Upton offered in return.
Then Devon whispered their names to the footman.
“The Earl and Countess of Malton and the Dowager Countess of Malton,” the footman announced.
The music didn’t stop but the conversation did as all eyes turned to take them in. Cathleen tightened her grip on Devon’s arm, fighting down the desire to bolt, knowing anything resembling retreat would only increase the gossip.
They stood on the ballroom threshold for a heartbeat before Devon maneuvered them away from the door to a place near a window. The conversation in the wide room resumed, followed by a volley of curious looks cast their way. Cathleen opened her fan, waving it below her chin, trying to ignoring how the chaperones rose from their seats and leaned backwards and forwards to peer around the Ionic columns blocking their view of her. She focused her attention on a large painting of Cupid and Psyche on the wall above the dais where the quartet played, admiring the fine tones of Cupid’s bare skin when Lady Malton’s voice brought her firmly back to their little circle.
“Come, Cathleen, we must make the rounds.” Lady Malton took her by the elbow and Cathleen struggled not to gape in shock.
“What are you up to, Mother?” Devon growled.
“Nothing,” the dowager snapped. “I intend to introduce your bride to the ladies and stop all this whispering and glancing. It’s all too ridiculous.”
Cathleen met Devon’s eyes, still unsure what to expect. He shrugged slightly. “I’ll be in the gaming room.”
“Good, for your wife and I may be some time.” The dowager led Cathleen through the assembled guests at a leisurely pace, introducing her to many of the country families in attendance. During the first few introductions, Cathleen held her breath, waiting for the dowager to say something inappropriate about Cathleen or her brother but she never did. She simply introduced her then made small talk, disappointing the people who expected to learn more about the new countess.
“I know this must seem strange to you,” the dowager remarked,
rubbing the top of the little dog’s head while they strolled around the room, “but I can’t think of another way to thank you for last night. I know few ladies who’d assist at a birthing to ensure my grandson’s safe delivery. It speaks to your character, which I had my doubts about at first, considering your family connections.”
“It was my pleasure to help,” Cathleen responded, ignoring the barb. She suspected this was as close as the dowager would ever come to a real compliment.
“I’m also grateful for the change you’ve wrought in Devon. I haven’t seen him this happy in a long time.”
“I can’t take all the credit.”
“Yes you can. Before you, he was always so melancholy. Whenever I questioned him, all he could speak of was poor Thomas Sefton or Sutton or whatever his name was.”
Cathleen grabbed the dowager’s arm, bringing them to a halt. “The man who saved Devon’s life?”
The dowager flicked a disapproving look at the hand grasping her and Cathleen let go. “Yes.”
“His name was Thomas Selton?” Cold fear crept through her and she willed the dowager to say no, but the woman only nodded and shrugged.
“I can’t remember. I try to discourage Devon from dwelling on it and I suggest you do the same. Ah, there is Lady Treston, you must meet her.”
Lady Malton started for a group of matrons standing in a circle at the far end of the dance floor but Cathleen didn’t follow.
She remained still, the rising music barely audible among the crush of thoughts reeling through her mind. Everything fell into place with the sharpness of a cracked whip. Thomas was the soldier who’d saved Devon. She’d married the man responsible for Thomas’s death. He’d married her out of guilt.
Her chest tightened, the anguish of hundreds of cold, hungry nights spent wishing for Thomas rushing back to her.
Georgie Lee Page 10