“Good day,” Lily said serenely. She gave Sam a smile that made his knees tremble. “Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Hawksmoor.”
“A pleasure, ma’am,” Sam muttered. He bowed to Lady Russell, who was watching him with a somewhat sardonic gleam in her eye. Alice took his arm in her talons.
“This way, Samuel,” she said meaningfully.
It seemed to Sam that without any conscious action on his part, he was inside the drawing room with the door firmly closed and both Alice and Gideon ranged before him in an attack formation that would have done credit to Lord Nelson. He closed his eyes.
“Well?” Alice said, with arctic calm and one hand on Gideon’s arm as though she were forcibly restraining him. “We await your explanation with interest, Samuel.”
Sam spoke very quickly, as though in doing so he might make it through the gathering storm without injury.
“Our cousin Benjamin has done something to upset a Miss Catherine Fenton who is an heiress and who has called him out on a point of honor and he has named both Gideon and myself as his seconds….”
Sam sensed rather than saw Gideon swell alarmingly and color up until he resembled a pomegranate, but then, as Sam thought there was no way he could be spared his brother’s wrath, Alice spoke very quietly.
“Benjamin has some connection with Miss Catherine Fenton?”
Sam opened his eyes at her tone. “I believe so,” he said cautiously.
“Hmm.” Alice strode across the room and turned to face him with a sudden and frightening swish. Sam jumped back.
“And she has called him out.”
“I…um…yes.”
“Outrageous,” Gideon hissed. “Foolish, reckless chit! She will be ruined—”
“Be quiet, dear,” Alice said quickly. “You are not listening properly. Miss Fenton cannot be ruined. It is not appropriate. Not when she has eighty thousand pounds.”
Sam saw a look pass between his brother and sister-in-law. The high color faded a little from Gideon’s face. “Oh, that Miss Catherine Fenton,” he said.
“Quite so, my dear,” Alice said. “You will have remembered who Lady Russell is now?”
“Of course,” Gideon said. “A nabob’s widow.”
“And worth—probably—another fifty thousand. She is Miss Fenton’s godmother,” Alice said, pressing her fingers together excitedly, “and she has no children of her own….”
Gideon sat down rather heavily. “And there is some connection between Miss Fenton and our cousin Benjamin,” he said, his tone a mixture of speculation and avarice. “I see.”
Sam stared at him in perplexity. “I have already told you,” he protested. “Ben has offended Miss Fenton, insulted her. She detests him.”
“A misunderstanding,” Alice said quickly. She swept past Sam, and rang the bell vigorously. “I feel sure that this is, of course, nothing more than a big misunderstanding that we may overcome.”
“Of course,” Gideon murmured.
“Benjamin has upset Miss Fenton in some way,” Alice continued, a soulful look in her eyes. “A romantic disagreement, perhaps. But the breach between them may be healed. I have always said that it was time our cousin settled down and found himself a respectable bride.”
Sam goggled. “You have?”
Alice ignored him. “And Miss Fenton is very…suitable. Not from the top rank of society, of course, but then—”
“Neither is Benjamin,” Gideon said.
Alice gave him a wintry smile. “I see you are quick to understand me, my dear. That is good. So how may we assist our cousin?”
“Assist him in what?” Sam said.
Alice gave a snort of disgust. “Samuel, you are not attending. It is the role of the seconds in any matter of honor to seek a solution without bloodshed, is it not?”
“Well yes,” Sam said, “but—”
“And it seems there has been some disagreement between Miss Fenton and our cousin Benjamin?”
“Well yes,” Sam said again. “As she has called him out, I imagine they have had quite a big disagreement.”
“Precisely,” Alice said. “And I feel sure it is of a romantic nature. What else could it be, where Benjamin is concerned? So I feel it is important that as his seconds, you and Gideon assist him in…ah…helping the course of true love to run smooth—”
Sam snorted and hastily turned it into a cough. “Beg pardon, ma’am, but you are speaking of Ben here. Don’t think true love enters into it.”
Alice looked cross. “You are so cynical, Samuel. I am trying to promote a match here.”
Sam stuck to his guns. “I cannot conceive it in any woman’s best interests to marry Ben, ma’am.”
Alice glared. “It is your bounden duty—with Gideon, of course—to secure a happy outcome for your cousin and to assist in smoothing out this situation peaceably. Now—” she sat down and drummed her fingers on the arm of the sofa “—how is this to be achieved?”
“We must get them together and act as arbiter in the situation,” Gideon said thoughtfully. “As you say, my dear, it is our bounden duty.” He turned to Sam. “Samuel, I cannot accept our cousin’s request to act as second.” He plumped out his chest. “I am a responsible citizen and dueling is, after all, illegal. However, I will write to Miss Fenton in the strongest possible terms to try to persuade her to see the error of her ways.”
“I am sure that she will be delighted to hear from you, Gideon,” Sam murmured, wondering whether his brother’s pomposity might bring a second challenge from the apparently volatile and unpredictable Miss Catherine Fenton.
“And then we shall bring Miss Fenton and our cousin together,” Gideon continued, warming to his theme. “You must persuade our cousin to attend our winter ball next week, Samuel. It is imperative that he be there.”
Sam’s mouth, already at half-mast, now dropped all the way. “You—want—Ben—to—come—to—a Ton ball?” he gasped.
Gideon glared. “Was that not what I just said?”
“Yes, but—” Sam rubbed his head hard “—you hate Ben—”
Gideon puffed out his cheeks. “That is putting it a little too strongly, Samuel.”
“And,” Sam continued, “you have always said that he is a degenerate reprobate.”
Gideon’s crimson color was starting to rise again. “Yes, yes. Well a man can change his mind.”
“Ben will never do it,” Sam finished. “He says that Ton balls bore him.”
He saw Gideon glance quickly at Alice.
“I don’t care how you do it,” Gideon barked, “just make sure that he is there. I want to talk to him.”
Sam straightened his shoulders. “I have a few things I’d like to say to him myself,” he said, “if it comes to that.”
“Good!” Gideon snapped. “You bring Benjamin and I will persuade Miss Fenton to attend and we shall see what can be done.”
“COULD YOU TELL ME WHAT WE ARE doing here, my lord?” Price’s lugubrious tones just reached Ben’s ears. The butler was speaking through six scarves and the turned-up collar of an overcoat. Despite that, he looked chilled to the bone, his face sunken and gray, and a drop of fog crystallizing on the end of his nose.
“Certainly, Price,” Ben said cheerfully. “We are engaged in reconnaissance, for as we know—”
“Time spent preparing one’s ground is seldom wasted,” Price finished for him.
“Exactly.” Ben wriggled forward on the frozen earth, pushing aside some of the rotting vegetables and piles of paper that obscured his view. They were in an insalubrious alleyway behind a very famous gunsmith’s in Bond Street, and in the candlelit cellar beneath the shop, Ben knew that Miss Catherine Fenton was practicing her pistol shooting. He could see her now through the grating in front of him. And he did not need the shooting master’s comments of “Very good, miss!” or “Excellent shot!” to tell him that he was in deep trouble. Miss Catherine Fenton could shoot the center out of a playing card at fifty paces.
Catherine w
as wearing scarlet this afternoon and her upright little figure was stiff with determination and defiance as she aimed time after time at the heart in the center of the playing card. A whimsical smile played about Ben’s lips. He had no doubt that she was picturing him standing there and that her outrage over his behavior gave an even steelier resolve to her shooting.
The strange thing was that with each new thing he learned about Catherine, his admiration for her grew. When he had decided to marry her for her money, he had known very little about her. He had desired her and he had certainly coveted her fortune, and in his ignorance he had thought that that was sufficient. He had tried to deny the deeper need that seemed to draw him constantly to her side. But then she had shown him the real Catherine Fenton, a young woman of extraordinary courage and resource who was not prepared to fall in with his plans. And that revelation had gained not only his respect but also something more exciting and unpredictable. He could feel it now as he watched her steady herself and take aim yet again. Her face was composed, her gaze cool as she measured the distance to the target. And in that moment he wanted her so much; he wanted her coolness and her passion, her strength and her generosity, because he sensed somehow that with her he could be so much better a man than he could ever be without her.
The only stumbling block was that she despised him.
He stood up, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Damn it, Price,” he muttered. “She’s a crack shot. I wasn’t sure whether it was just bravado on her part.”
Price shuffled forward and took his place at the grating. After a moment, Ben heard the sound of another shot and then a sigh from Price.
“One might truthfully say, my lord, that you are now at a considerable disadvantage,” he said.
Ben was stung. “Dash it, Price, it’s not as though I am a bad shot myself.”
“No, my lord,” the butler agreed, dusting a stray cabbage leaf from his trousers, “but Miss Fenton is a lady. If you can remember that and yet still manage to shoot her then you are even less of a gentleman than people imagine.”
Ben grinned. “Thank you, Price.”
“I am merely outlining the problem as I see it, my lord.”
Ben offered him a hand to help him to his feet. “So if that is the problem, Price, what is the solution?”
Price huffed thoughtfully. “The solution is to erase the threat.”
Ben was genuinely shocked. “Erase Miss Fenton before the duel? Whatever can you mean, Price?”
Price let out a long sigh, his cloudy breath mingling with the fog. “I was not suggesting that you eliminate Miss Fenton before the contest, my lord,” he said reproachfully, “merely that you remove the threat of her injuring you.”
“Difficult,” Ben murmured. “I have the impression that she would like to injure me quite a lot.”
“Yes, my lord.” Price drove his hands into the pockets of his great coat as they started to walk back down the alleyway toward the main thoroughfare of Bond Street. “That being the case, you must do what you have to do to persuade her. Apologize, withdraw your proposal…”
Ben sighed. “That way I will lose Miss Fenton and her money, Price.”
“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Price said, “but you never actually had them, did you?”
“I will look a coward.”
“Better than looking dead, my lord.”
Ben thought of the lethal fierceness in Catherine’s eyes as she took aim. “True.”
“And then, perhaps,” Price said, “you might woo her properly. If you still wish to marry her that is, my lord.”
Ben gave a shout of laughter. “Woo her? She would as soon entertain a man-eating tiger as she would my suit, Price.”
The butler permitted himself a tight smile. “That is certainly a drawback, my lord,” he agreed, “but scarcely an insuperable one.”
“I am glad that you believe that to be the case,” Ben said dryly. He clapped his butler on the shoulder. “Thank you for the advice, Price. I am for Brooks’s. I will see you later.”
“Your cousin Samuel,” Price said, “delivered an invitation to Mr. and Mrs. Hawksmoor’s winter ball today, my lord. He stated that Miss Fenton would be attending.”
Ben stared. “He delivered an invitation for me from Alice and Gideon?”
Price nodded. “Apparently Mr. Gideon Hawksmoor sees it as his duty to achieve a reconciliation between yourself and Miss Fenton, my lord.”
A slow smile broke across Ben’s face. “Does he, indeed? Well, I’ll be damned. Never thought to throw my lot in with Gideon, but if it is the only way to marry Catherine…”
“Just so, my lord,” Price said.
CHAPTER NINE
If a gentleman asks a lady to step aside with him from the company then it is generally accepted that he is a scoundrel and up to no good.
—Mrs. Eliza Squire, Good Conduct for Ladies
CATHERINE SMOOTHED her evening gown of palest green muslin beneath her velvet cloak, and seated herself in the carriage. She burrowed beneath the traveling rug, seeking the warmth of the hot brick for her toes. Her feet, in their flimsy evening slippers, felt like blocks of ice.
She had not wanted to attend Mrs. Alice Hawksmoor’s winter ball that night. When the invitation had arrived—suspiciously late—she had been tempted to throw it in the fire. Mr. and Mrs. Gideon Hawksmoor had never been more than civil in the past, certainly not flattering her with a handwritten note positively begging her to attend their little party. Besides, she knew that Ben had nominated both his cousins as his seconds for the duel and she had misgivings about setting foot in Gideon’s house under such circumstances.
Catherine was feeling blue-deviled anyway, but her anger with Ben was mixed with nervousness now as time crept toward the morning appointed for the duel. She was not sure that she could injure a man in cold blood, no matter how much she felt he had wronged her.
In the end it had been Lady Russell who had persuaded her to accept the invitation. She had pointed out that sitting at home for another long, dark, quiet winter night was a recipe for madness. Taking dinner up to her father’s room, Catherine had been forced to agree. Sir Alfred was still confined to bed with a sick fever and seemed to care little for anything. When Catherine had tried to question him on the state of her business affairs, he had simply looked blank and turned away.
So Catherine had swallowed her misgivings and had asked Lady Russell to be her chaperone for the night, and that redoubtable lady had dusted down an ancient ball gown that Catherine recognized from a magazine dating to the 1770s. There was a turban to match, adorned with pheasant feathers.
“I did not care for Mr. Gideon Hawksmoor when we met the other day,” Lady Russell said now. “He is a rude man who was most uncivil to dear Lily. But if he is the only alternative to a night of boredom,” she added, patting her feather-sprouting turban with approval, “then I suppose we must just make do.” She huddled deeper beneath the fur-lined carriage rug. “My, my, but I hope they have some hot negus waiting or I shall be obliged to decamp to the nearest hostelry.”
Catherine pulled back the curtain from the window. The freezing fog that had plagued the country over the last few weeks had lifted during the day, giving way to clear skies and a hard frost, but now that night had fallen again it had descended like a blanket once more, shrouding the city in this grim, gray pall.
“I think,” Lady Russell said, shivering, “that you should call off this nonsense about the duel, Kate dear. You would not be able to shoot a house in this murk, let alone a man. And if the fog does not defeat you then the cold surely will.”
Catherine sighed. She knew Lady Russell was right. They would end in a ditch if they even thought of setting off for Harington Heath, and once she and Ben had taken twenty paces from one another they would not even be visible. The whole idea was unworkable.
She sighed again as she peered through the carriage windows. “Well at least Lord Hawksmoor will not be present this evening. He and his cousin detest
one another.” She shivered. “Will this fog never lift? This has been the gloomiest winter I can recall. I hear that the river is frozen now and they are holding a fair on the ice.”
“That sounds rather fun,” Lady Russell said. “If I were not so old and prone to the rheumatics I think I would attend.”
THE HAWKSMOORS HAD MORE than made up for the darkness outside by decorating their ballroom with the brightest collection of paper lanterns Catherine had ever seen. The heat was tremendous.
“Gracious,” Lady Russell said disagreeably, forgetting that she had been complaining of the cold only five minutes past, “it will be like dancing in a greenhouse!”
Their hosts were waiting to greet them. The press of people seemed very great for a ball in the Little Season. Catherine could not see how so many could fit in the house. They took their places in the reception line and edged forward slowly.
“What a crush!” Lady Russell said, fanning herself with her pheasant-feather fan.
Catherine stepped forward to greet Mrs. Hawksmoor.
And stopped dead.
There, flanked by his cousins, stood Benjamin, Lord Hawksmoor. Hiding behind a pillar so I should not see him, Catherine thought wrathfully.
And in a split second, she realized just how neatly she had been outmaneuvered.
It had never occurred to her that in the interests of the family fortunes, Gideon and Ben would throw their lot in with one another. What a naive little fool she had been.
Meeting Ben’s sardonic hazel gaze, Catherine shivered in her satin slippers. Now, when it was too late, she could see exactly what had happened. Gideon and Alice Hawksmoor had fancied her thousands in the family. In this one matter their interests exactly coincided with Ben’s and, for the sake of eighty thousand pounds of nabob money, they were prepared to join forces.
Ben had once told her that everything had a price.
Lady Russell poked her in the back with her fan. “Catherine! What the deuce are you up to, gel? Have your unmentionables fallen down?”
“Did you know about this?” Catherine hissed back, gesturing toward the reception party.
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