by Amelia Grey
Catherine had said her sister wanted them to go to Lady Windham’s to see Westerland. John didn’t want her dancing with the Marquis. It was strange, but John knew he wanted her to be interested only in him. That was a big change for him.
“Is your uncle conserving oil?”
John looked up from the brandy in his glass and saw Andrew leaning against the doorjamb, one foot carelessly crossed over the other.
“With hundreds of candles and every lamp in the house lit, I doubt it.”
“Then why sit in the dark?”
I think better in the dark.
Until a few days ago Andrew could say anything to John and it didn’t bother him. In fact, he used to enjoy a good row with his friend, but recently he hadn’t been in the mood for Andrew’s mockery and especially not tonight.
“I assumed it would be obvious that I was hoping no one would see me in here.”
“Why?”
“Do you suppose it could be because I wanted to be alone?”
“No.” Andrew strode into the library and folded his arms across his chest. “How can you be alone in a house full of people?”
“There was no one in this room until you stopped at the doorway.”
“And it’s a good thing I did. Is that your uncle’s favorite brandy you’re drinking?”
“Bloody hell, Andrew, I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm tonight.” John put his glass to his lips and downed the rest of his drink.
“Then get up and let’s head to White’s and have a port there. It’s not like you to sit around brooding.”
“I’m not brooding.” John rose. “I was just thinking I might head over to Lady Windham’s soirée.”
“All right. Let’s go there.”
John hadn’t planned on Andrew going with him. He walked over to the side table and placed the empty glass by the brandy decanter.
“Did I tell you I met Miss Reynolds tonight?” Andrew asked.
Thankful it was dark, John turned toward his friend and tried to sound disinterested as he said, “No.”
“Yes. Fascinating lady. Quite fiery. I bet she would be a hot tumble under the covers for you.”
Without thinking, John grabbed Andrew by his coat and shoved him up against the wall.
“Don’t ever say anything like that about her again.”
John’s angry gaze locked with Andrew’s in the darkened room.
“I won’t,” Andrew said calmly. “I don’t have to now that I know where you stand concerning her.”
John saw there was no malice or resentment in Andrew. His friend hadn’t put up a fight or any kind of resistance when John grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.
He let go of Andrew’s coat and turned away from him. He swallowed hard. If Andrew had made that comment about any other lady, John would have probably agreed with him, but hearing it said about Catherine enraged him. He took a steadying breath.
“You said that about her on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to know if it would rile me.”
Andrew straightened his coat. “Yes. I thought I knew where you’re headed with her. I wanted to make sure you knew.”
“I know,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure that he did. She had him all twisted up inside. His loss of self-control disturbed him.
“And now so do I.”
“You could have just asked,” John said.
“I don’t think you knew the truth until just now. I’ll be at White’s if you decide to come in for a drink or a game of cards later,” Andrew said, then turned and walked out.
John took a deep breath and poured himself another brandy. He knew the truth now. For the first time in his life he’d met a lady who was more important to him than any one else. He didn’t want to believe that he could be close to falling in love.
POSSIBLY HER BROTHER.
What was Catherine going to do? The feelings she was having for John were anything but brotherly!
After having spent a restless night and a miserable morning, Catherine walked into the discreetly accommodating parlor of Victoria’s home carrying her favorite book of poetry. She hoped to use it as a foil. She could pretend to be reading when she was really trying to come to terms with the possibility that she and John might have the same father.
Aside from her bedroom with its dark lilac colors, this room was her favorite. The walls were papered a pale yellow with hand-painted flowers. The velvet draperies were a light shade of amethyst adorned with fancy stitched embroidery of ferns and elaborate fringe cording.
The matching Hepplewhite settees were upholstered in a busy flower pattern that coordinated with the walls and the window dressings. Over the fireplace hung a stately portrait of Victoria’s dearly departed husband, flanked by silver-sheathed swords.
Catherine pushed aside the heavy velvet drapery panel and looked out onto the garden below. An unusual amount of sunshine for the past several days had many new flowers in bloom.
It knotted her stomach and caused heaviness in her chest to even think about the possibility of Lord Chatwin being her brother. She had enjoyed his kisses that chilly morning in the park. She’d welcomed the funny fluttering in her breast and low in her abdomen whenever he was near.
Catherine lifted her shoulders a little higher. She was strong, intelligent, and capable. She could do it. She had known it would not be an easy task when she set out to undertake this mission.
She had to know now more than ever.
She awoke that morning with the feeling that she was more determined than ever to find out which man was her father, and if that meant he was also Lord Chatwin’s father, she would find a way to live with it.
But how difficult would it be to discover if her father was dead? She had no choice but to solicit Lady Lynette’s help.
“It is just going to take some time.” She sighed heavily. “Maybe a lot of time.”
“Catherine, whom are you talking to?”
Surprised to hear Victoria’s voice, Catherine turned around from the window and laid her book on the side table that stood against the far wall. “I must have been mumbling to myself,” she answered.
“You looked so deep in thought. I didn’t think you saw me come in. What are you mumbling about on a beautiful day like today?”
“I was just wondering how much time I have before the Marquis arrives.”
“Half an hour. Now turn around and let me look at you. Your dress must look as pretty from the back as it does in the front. Is your hair pinned straight?”
Catherine slowly turned around, waiting for Victoria’s approval. Catherine was not used to having someone fuss so over her day in and day out. All Victoria seemed to be interested in was how Catherine looked.
She wished she could confide in Victoria about her mother’s diary, but not knowing how she would react made that impossible.
“I really don’t think you should have agreed that Lord Westerland could come for refreshments without consulting me, Victoria. I’m not at all certain I’m interested in the man.”
“Nonsense, of course you are interested.” Victoria fiddled with the lace trim around the neckline of Catherine’s dress. “He’s a Marquis. I shall not be derelict in my duty to find you a suitable husband.”
“But I must approve the man I marry, too.”
“He has a title and he’s handsome. How can you not approve of him? He’s perfect for you.”
Catherine had to smile at Victoria’s words. “Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you thought Lord Chatwin was perfect for me?”
“Yes, and I still do.” Vickie smiled, too. “However, I reserve the right to change my mind when I need to in order to benefit you. Lord Chatwin is playing with us. So now I’m thinking the Marquis might be a better choice. He’s younger than the earl and one day he will be a duke.” Victoria’s smile widened. “Imagine yourself a duchess.”
“Right now I’d rather imagine myself unwed. I don’t want to be hurried into making a decision about with whom I shall s
pend the rest of my life.”
“Who’s hurrying you? There’s no hurry. The Season just started. You have at least six weeks to decide.”
Victoria laughed softly as she retied a bow on one of Catherine’s sleeves. Catherine realized Victoria was very pretty when she smiled. Her brown eyes sparkled with happiness, and for a moment Catherine wondered why her sister had not married again.
Catherine had known from the moment she landed on Victoria’s doorstep in London that her sister would relish every second of being her guardian, and Victoria had not disappointed her. She had forsaken all her social duties to be constantly by Catherine’s side.
Victoria paused in her fussing over Catherine’s dress. “Did you hear that?”
“Yes. It sounded like a knock on the front door. Do you suppose the Marquis is early?”
“By half an hour?” Victoria exclaimed. “He would not be so lacking in manners. No, most likely it’s someone delivering another invitation for us. You have been quite popular, I’m happy to say.”
“Even if it is the Marquis, it’s not a problem. I’m ready.”
Catherine was eager to get the afternoon over with. She was no more interested in spending time with the Marquis this afternoon than she was in dancing with him last night after she’d left Lord Chatwin. The only thing she was eager to do was to find out more about the earl’s father and the other two men. And she was hoping to see Lady Lynette tonight and solicit her help.
What a dreadful task she had before her. One man was dotty about the color green, one wouldn’t ride a horse or carriage, and the other was the father of the only man who had ever stirred her womanly senses. Her stomach knotted again at the thought.
“We don’t want the Marquis to know you are ready. If it’s him, we’ll just have him wait.”
A young, rotund maid appeared at the doorway of the parlor and said, “Lord Chatwin is here to pay a call on Miss Reynolds. He wants to know if she is receiving visitors.”
Catherine’s heart started hammering in her chest. Lord Chatwin? He had come to see her.
Did she want to see him? Yes, of course, she had to see him.
She had to determine if he was her brother. She turned to Victoria, who looked shocked that the earl would defy her.
“What audacity he has calling on you without asking for my permission. That is unheard of.”
Catherine said the first thing that came to her mind. “Not in the village where I grew up.”
“But you are not in the Northern part of the country anymore. You are in London. There are rules and he must obey them. I told him we had no time for a visit from him today.”
“You mean yesterday. You didn’t speak to him about this last evening. It was the evening before.”
Victoria started pacing. “What day it was we spoke about this is beside the point.” She stopped and looked at the maid and said, “Lizzie, please take Lord Chatwin’s card and tell him Miss Reynolds is not receiving guests this afternoon.”
The maid nodded. “Yes, Madam.”
“Wait,” Catherine said to the maid, and Lizzie halted mid-turn. “Tell him I’ll see him.”
Victoria put her hands on her slim hips. “You are not serious. The Marquis is due here.”
Catherine remained calm, though it was quite clear that Victoria was in a dither. “But not for half an hour. We can give the earl five minutes.”
“But he didn’t even dance with you last evening after inviting you to the party,” Victoria said, clearly exasperated and unforgiving.
“But he did ask. It was not his fault we had to leave before my turn came around. Don’t be so stuffy, Vickie.”
Victoria tapped her foot on the floor as she seemed to ponder Catherine’s words.
“All right, we’ll allow him to see you. And if he by chance sees the Marquis here it might do both of them good to see the other here.”
“Vickie, I don’t think that would be a good idea at all.”
“Of course it is. I’ve been married, my dear, and you have not. I know how a man’s mind works. Let me handle this. I know what I’m doing.” She turned to the maid again. “Ask him to come into the parlor.”
Catherine wasn’t happy about the idea of the two titled gentlemen seeing each other, but she was very sure she wanted to see Lord Chatwin.
John walked in and his eyes immediately found Catherine, but he quickly sought out Victoria first and said, “Good afternoon, Mrs. Goosetree.” He bowed and kissed her hand.
“This is a surprise, my lord,” Victoria said in the tight voice she reserved for when she wasn’t in control.
Not responding to Victoria’s reprimand, he turned to Catherine. He smiled, bowed, and took her hand and kissed it, squeezing her fingers ever so lightly. “Miss Reynolds, you are beautiful this afternoon.”
Catherine’s breath became shallow and a fluttering started in her chest. His gaze never left hers.
“Thank you, my lord.”
Somehow she knew this man could not be her brother. She didn’t know how or why, but she felt it deep inside herself. Now all she had to do was find some way to prove it.
And she needed John’s help to do that.
“I see you don’t play by the rules, Lord Chatwin,” Victoria said, forcing John to step farther away from Catherine.
He gave Victoria an exaggeratedly curious expression and said, “I’ve been accused of that before, Mrs. Goosetree. What rule have I failed to follow this time?”
“You should have asked my permission before calling on my sister today.”
“I merely stopped by and asked if she were available to see me. There is nothing wrong with that. Had it not been convenient, I assume you would have declined and sent me on my way.”
Victoria cleared her throat rather loudly and said, “Yes, I’m afraid I will have to do just that shortly, as we do have another gentleman caller expected in a matter of minutes.”
“Then I thank you for giving me the few you have.”
“I do so only because I assume you want to apologize to Catherine for ignoring her last evening. And with that in mind, I’m going to sit over here by the window and give you a few minutes to speak to her alone.”
He bowed to her again. “Thank you.”
Victoria walked over to a flower-printed armchair on the back wall of the parlor and took a seat. She picked up the book of poetry Catherine had placed on the table and opened it.
Catherine looked up at John and realized he was smiling down at her with his eyes, his lips, and his whole expression.
She so wanted to be captivated by him but couldn’t allow herself to be knowing he might be her brother.
“You do have quite a nerve to come here, my lord.”
“My nerve is second only to a lady who has the cheekiness to steal an earl’s horse.”
“Borrowed, Lord Chatwin,” she said softly as she walked closer to the doorway, and farther away from Victoria’s hearing.
“It’s John, remember, and it is as you wish on what happened in the park,” he said, keeping his voice low and easing farther away from Victoria. “However, your sister is right. I should have spent more time with you last evening. I should have danced with you before you had to leave.”
“You were busy dancing with all the other ladies in attendance. And I hear that is a nice habit you have.”
His gaze stayed steady on her face as he said, “You are the only one I wanted to dance with.”
That fluttering feeling started in her chest again. He sounded so sincere, her heart melted.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I was wrong to ignore you last night. I want to know what parties you are attending tonight so I can find you.”
Catherine looked down at her folded hands. She desperately wanted that, too, but she had to say, “That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why? Because of my behavior?”
She shook her head but didn’t speak. Dare she tell him the truth? What would he say?
Would he believe her?
“Is it because I’ve said I have no thoughts on getting married?”
She looked back into his eyes. “No, it’s not that.”
“Then why?”
She glanced over at Victoria and was quite certain she was straining to hear everything they said. Catherine positioned herself so that Lord Chatwin was between her and Victoria.
Softly she said, “I’m privy to some information that I don’t think you are aware of.”
He gave her a quizzical look. “What kind of information?”
She took a deep breath and said, “I think you might be my brother.”
“What?” he asked loudly, his dark eyes glittering with shock.
Victoria cleared her throat.
“Shh,” Catherine warned him. “You must not speak where she can hear you.”
She peeked around him and looked over at Victoria who was looking up at them. She smiled at her sister, and then turned back to John and said, “Please keep your voice down.”
“That’s asking a lot when you say something like I might be your brother. What in the devil’s name are you talking about?”
“It’s true. There is a possibility that you might be. I came to London to find my real father. I don’t have much to go on, but I do have three names, and I just discovered last night that your father’s name is one of those.”
She watched the shock in his eyes turn to anger. “What kind of game are you playing now?”
Catherine put her finger to her lips to remind him to keep his voice low before she answered, “This is no game, sir.”
“I think it is. First you steal my horse and cause me grief with my friends, my enemies, and the scandal sheets. Now you come up with this scheme, this wild story about us being related.”
“There is the possibility that’s true.”
“If you thought it was true, why did you let me kiss you in the park?”
“I told you I only found out your father’s name last night when you pointed out his portrait and said it. I’ve known you only by your title name, Lord Chatwin, which is the name you go by. No one ever told me your family name until you did.”
“So you didn’t come to London for a husband? You came here looking for trouble.”