“Pardon?”
“The dinner at the Hawkesburys’. You said you were going?”
“Oh. Of course.”
Julia’s pretty smile flashed. “Wonderful. We shall see you then.”
Catherine nodded. Wonderful.
Winthrop Manor
Next evening
“Well, that went well.”
Jonathan nodded as Hale poured another brandy. The ladies had retired, leaving his two friends and himself to watch the flames burn down. Dinner at Hampton Hall had gone well, had proved surprising, in more ways than one.
The earl and countess had welcomed his guests as sincerely as if they’d known them for years. But it was their other guests who had proved most interesting. Miss Winthrop had finally made a social appearance, her first in public apart from services. He knew she and the countess possessed some level of friendship, but hadn’t realized how close they were until they’d performed a duet on the pianoforte, with remarkable skill.
He frowned. He didn’t remember that about her. Neither did he recall seeing a certain Milton fellow hanging around before. Somehow Milton—the local squire’s son, it appeared—had managed to sit beside her at dinner, then later whilst the other ladies performed. He’d often whispered in her ear, and she’d murmured back, clearly comfortable with the young man in a way she never relaxed in Jon’s presence. His fingers tightened around the glass.
“You’re awfully quiet, old man,” Carmichael said from his position on the sofa.
Jon forced his lips upward. “I was enjoying the quiet.”
“I will say this, that though ladies are very pleasant company, they are inclined to screech.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Perhaps you were too enchanted by the charming Miss Beauchamp,” Hale said. “Did you not notice that every one of the ladies tonight either talked or sang in a very loud voice? Apart from the countess, of course. And your Miss Beauchamp.”
“She’s not my Miss Beauchamp.”
“She’s not?” Hale grinned. “Then you don’t mind if I see if she prefers my Indian stories to yours?”
Jon’s brows rose.
“You do? And here was I wondering if someone else had caught your eye.”
He refused to bite.
“Miss Winthrop doesn’t have a loud voice,” Carmichael noted, slightly slurring his words. “She’s qu-quite a quiet thing …”
Jon frowned. Was he making fun of her slight stammer? His brow knit further. Since when did she stammer anyway? He did not recall—
“Y’know, with her long face and nose Miss Winthrop rather puts me in mind of a horse I once had, a nag with the sweetest nature—”
Jon cleared his throat, eyed his friend steadily.
“Oh, beg pardon. I forgot for a moment …” Hale tilted his head back, the amber liquid from his glass disappearing swiftly in the practiced action. “She seemed to be having a good chat with that Milton fellow. D’you know him?”
“No.” Nor did he have any intention to. The man appeared little more than a wind-sucking popinjay. He was content to limit his interactions with the fellow to the merest civility.
Jon took another sip, forcing his thoughts to more pleasant things as he studied the crackling fire. He liked this room, liked the mellow quiet of the old bricks, the history of its thick, sixteenth-century walls. The legacy of countless Winthrops who had gone before, building, establishing, growing—until his predecessor had almost gambled it away.
He shook his head. Was it better to let everyone think the previous Lord Winthrop was merely a poor manager, rather than the poor gambler he really was? Thank God nobody had said anything to Miss Winthrop tonight, but then, he didn’t expect any of the guests—save Carmichael—to have much experience with gambling dens, and the viscount was too much of a gentleman to expose another’s weakness and cause a woman pain.
He looked up, caught Carmichael glance away, smoothing away a smile. “Yes?”
“You seem troubled, dear fellow. Still can’t make up your mind which of the young ladies it should be?”
“You are being absurd.”
Hale chuckled. “Not absurd. It is why you invited us down, isn’t it? To approve your choice and all that? Tell you what, I rather like the Henery girl. She seems a lively sort, and is quite pretty.”
She also didn’t have a word to say that wasn’t linked in some way to dogs.
“I thought Miss Winterbottom to be more your thing,” Carmichael mused. “She seems quite pious. I even overheard her asking the countess about the services here. I ask you!”
“Yes, but she’s more good than good-looking,” Hale drawled. “I don’t think I would find her much fun.”
“Tell you who I don’t think would be fun is that Miss Winthrop! Barely said a word all night—”
“And looked a perfect fright,” interrupted Hale.
“—until she made that comment, right at the end. To Lady Henery, no less!”
Jon’s lips twitched. Another moment that had surprised as well as disconcerted. He pretended to sip his wine as the scene arose in his mind. After the meal, the ladies had performed an impromptu concert in the music room. Miss Winthrop’s surprisingly lovely duet with the countess had engendered requests for more, which Miss Winthrop had agreed to reluctantly, playing with indifference and a few slipped notes.
Lady Henery had said loudly, “I have always held that when one does not bother practicing it is but a sure sign of an indolent nature.”
Quick as a flash, Miss Winthrop had murmured, “Or a sign that they are simply in want of a pianoforte.”
His eyes narrowed again, remembering the titter that filled the room. Did she mean to imply they were without? Surely the Dower House was equipped with such things.
“There is that look again.” Carmichael glanced at Hale. “Perhaps we should be more circumspect in our observations about Miss Winthrop.”
“You are being ridiculous,” Jon said.
“If you think that, then you did not see the way she glared in your direction when you were talking to the pretty Miss Beauchamp.”
His heart leapt. Then dropped. She did not care for him. She did not. Didn’t her avoidance confirm her aversion? He shook his head. Tried to assume a nonchalance he did not feel as he shrugged. “Miss Beauchamp is a little young, but she seems quite amiable.”
“Quite amiable and a tidy armful,” Hale nodded before draining his glass.
“Exactly how young is too young, old man?” Carmichael’s brows rose. “Would I be right in assuming a lady of six-and-twenty more suitable?”
“Five-and-twenty,” he muttered, unthinkingly.
“I knew it!” Carmichael crowed. “Miss Winthrop wins!”
Jonathan thunked his glass on the table. “Perhaps you should attend to yourself and be a little more prudent in your observations. I assure you, Miss Winthrop and I do not suit—”
“So she will not be attending the ball next week?”
His heart flickered in memory of another ball. He suppressed the sting and groaned, “Why did I ever agree to hold a ball?”
“Because you are a wonderful host?” suggested Hale.
Jon heaved out a breath. “Because I am a glutton for punishment.”
“So will she attend?” Carmichael persisted.
“I don’t think ladies in mourning attend balls, do you? Rest assured, I have no interest in Miss Winthrop, and can safely promise you that we will never be anything more than mere neighbors.”
He leaned back in his seat, daring his friends to question his assertion.
God help him.
CHAPTER NİNE
THE FOLLOWING MONDAY, Catherine was back at Hampton Hall, having assumed a look of polite indifference as Lavinia continued to chat about Mr. Carlew and his visitors. She gritted her teeth. Wasn’t it enough to constantly hear his praises being sung? Why must her dearest friend do the same? If only she knew. And as for all the young ladies deemed suitable prospects …
Her smile grew even more brittle as Lavinia moved on to praising Miss Beauchamp.
“Miss Beauchamp seems a very nice sort of girl, although she is quite young.” With a grin, Lavinia added, “But I suppose that is the problem with superior young men. They make it hard to approve even the most suitable of candidates.”
“I … I suppose so.”
“I am sure we will hear news of a match soon.”
Catherine stilled. It seemed as though her entire being rose up in protest. She swallowed the bile as Lavinia studied her curiously. “Are you not the least bit interested in these things? Are we not supposed to care about our neighbors?”
“By gossiping about them?” Catherine raised a brow.
“Such a harsh indictment!”
“Such a true one,” Catherine murmured.
“Such comments put me in mind of Lord Winthrop.” Catherine stiffened as Lavinia eyed her. “He shares your dry sense of humor.”
She forced her smile to stay fixed.
Lavinia placed a hand on her swollen belly. “Nicholas has mocked my lack of observation these days, but Catherine, I have sensed for some time now that you are one of the few who do not approve of our new neighbor. Please forgive me, but I did not think you as prejudiced as other members of your family.”
Her gaze fell, unable to meet the honest love in her friend’s eyes.
“You must excuse me if I have said something distressful, yet I cannot but be concerned. Has Lord Winthrop done something to upset you?”
“N-no.” She peeked up to see Lavinia’s brows rise. “Of course he has not. Why would he?”
“Why indeed.” Her friend’s gray gaze grew penetrating. “So he has not upset you.”
“No!” Catherine swallowed a bubble of panic. “That is …”
“That is, yes?”
She shook her head, lowered her gaze again. “It was a long time ago.”
“But not long enough if he still has the power to discomfit my friend. Would it perhaps help if you shared?”
No, it would only expose her stupidity and weakness.
“Dearest Catherine, I feel that this is something you have carried for quite some time, and I know how wearying such a burden can be.”
“I—no. Thank you. I do not wish to impugn anyone.”
“And I don’t wish for my friend to be so heavy laden. We are at a crossroads, are we not?”
Catherine nodded, glancing up to find Lavinia steadily watching her. “It is only …”
“Only?”
And, like a pond whose walls were breached, so it tumbled out.
“I … I first met Mr. Carlew during the season, just after you were married. It was Grandpapa’s birthday, and all the cousins were in London to celebrate. Grandpapa had been unwell, and not expected to reach such a milestone. The first night of celebrations, I m-met Mr. Carlew and his mother. She was still Mrs. Carlew then, but as the wife of Grandpapa’s cousin she had been invited. Of course, Mama and Papa were horrified that people with such connections in trade had been invited and were quite blatant in their disdain. I remember feeling so s-sorry for Jonathan that I made a point of speaking with him as much as possible, especially as it seemed few others were. And in doing so, I discovered just how much we had in common.”
She paused, remembering that first night. Feeling prettier than ever before in her new pale yellow silk and diamond necklet. Feeling sure that this would be the season when she would finally meet the man of whom she had always vaguely dreamed. Her surprise at finding such a kindred soul in Mr. Carlew, despite his questionable antecedents. His blue-gray eyes, softening with admiration each time she stole from the ballroom to speak with him.
“H-he was very kind, and handsome, and gentlemanly, and not at all like my parents had implied.”
“Speaking from my own observations he does indeed appear so.” Lavinia’s eyes twinkled. “Especially the handsome part.”
Fire rushed along Catherine’s cheeks. She returned her attention to her hands. “I learned we shared an interest in horses, and poetry, and God. I knew my parents did not approve of him, so when he suggested we meet again I happened to mention what time I usually rode in Hyde Park.” She managed a smile. “Imagine my surprise to find him there the next day.”
“Imagine,” Lavinia murmured.
“Again we talked. Russell, our groom, didn’t mind. I was never out of his sight, and Mr. Carlew was so obviously a gentleman. And he was: gentle, and so good-hearted. We k-kept finding opportunities to meet, sometimes while riding, but also at church or the park or the museum. Eventually he said he wanted to talk with my father, but I dissuaded him. I did not want our lovely times together to stop. He said he would write …”
And he had. Twice. The first time with such pretty words from John Donne’s “The Good Morrow” she had memorized them immediately: “If ever any beauty I did see which I desir’d, and got, ’twas but a dream of thee.”
Her chest, her throat grew tight. Time had shown how illusionary such sentiment had been, that dream long ago fading into nothing, just like her pretensions to any kind of beauty. At Lavinia’s sympathetic look, she pushed past the ache to continue her story.
“H-he talked of his father—I mean Mr. Harold Carlew’s business, the success he was making of it, his plans for expansion. He had ties to the East India Company but wanted to see the natives prosper, not just the Europeans. He had such a good heart, which is why I don’t understand—”
“What happened?”
Catherine swallowed. The pain rose up again. “One day he didn’t appear in the park for our ride together. I supposed he might be sick and thought nothing of it. But the following day, and the next, when he still did not show and sent no word, I began to wonder if something was wrong. Eventually I wrote him a letter, asking what had happened, assuring him of my affection, and he sent back the stiffest little note saying—” Fresh hurt clogged her throat, filled her eyes. “S-saying that he was very sorry but it had all been a terrible misunderstanding.”
“Oh, Catherine!”
“I gave him my heart, but he didn’t w-want it.” Her voice broke on a sob.
“Oh, my dear.” Lavinia shifted close, pulling Catherine’s head to her shoulder.
Tears dripped down. She swiped them away. “I do not know what I did wrong. Should we have been honest from the start? Did I say something to offend him? Should I have encouraged him to speak to Papa?”
“Your father said nothing?”
“Never. Neither Papa nor Mama ever spoke of him in any terms except disparaging his birth, so I do not think they knew. Mama was always so busy with plans for me to meet other men, she never knew I had already met the one I wanted.”
“And Mr. Carlew has given you no word since returning?”
“Nothing. He is kind, it is true, but distant, like I am a mere acquaintance he has no desire to further know. I cannot reconcile this to the man who—”
She stopped, shame quivering inside and around her.
“Who what?”
Catherine studied her calfskin half boots. Lavinia was married, and increasing. Surely she would understand, would not judge. “He kissed me.” She rushed on past Lavinia’s intake of breath. Better to get this out now, once and for all. “It was our final meeting, although I didn’t know it at the time. We were at a ball, a masquerade at Lady Sefton’s, but we knew each other’s disguise as we’d discussed them previously. Mama had wanted me to dance with Lord Harville, but I slipped out to the garden with Mr. Carlew. I knew it was wrong, but I l-loved him and wanted to be with him. He was begging me once again to let him speak with Papa, so to stop him fussing I … I kissed him.”
She peeked up to see Lavinia’s look of half horror, half admiration. “Catherine!”
“And he kissed me back.”
And that was the thing she had found so difficult to comprehend. If he had been shocked by her actions surely he wouldn’t have responded. Yes, she’d noticed his hesitation at firs
t, but then his arms had stolen around her, and he’d drawn her close, his lips warmly possessing hers in the loveliest, most wonderful moment of her life.
Her eyes filled anew. Such sweet, sweet memories! To have known such tenderness, to have felt so beautiful, so cherished, so desired. Had she been mistaken? Was she such a fool? Or had she magnified such feelings beyond what truly happened, misjudging things by the events that followed, events that ripped away all certainty, leading to the numbness that remained deep within?
“I thought he loved me.” She winced at the plaintive note in her voice, but could not deny the truth. His kiss had said so. His repulsion had obviously set in later.
Lavinia clasped Catherine’s hand once more. “And you are certain he did not speak to your father?”
“How could he without my knowing?”
Lavinia bit her lip.
“I kept half expecting him to visit, despite my pleas not to, because he was so concerned that it might appear underhand, and he is—he was—honorable.”
Lavinia sighed. “I’m so sorry. I see now why it is hard for you to hear talk of any new attachment.”
“It is hard simply for him to live in the same vicinity.”
“Of course.” Lavinia squeezed her hands then released them. “Thank you for sharing. You can be sure I will be praying most earnestly for God to direct your path. And Mr. Carlew’s, too.”
Catherine’s eyes blurred. “Th-thank you.”
A short while later she was riding home, feeling an awkward mix of relief at finally having shared her burden, and renewed hopelessness, that the precious memories stirred up today would oh-so-quickly turn to dust again.
Avebury, Wiltshire
Jonathan studied his cousin as his estate manager continued speaking. Was he such a fool as to hope the lad would truly hear, and not just listen?
“You can see the fields are less productive than they would be if they were joined together.” Peter frowned as Mr. Clipshom continued. “I recommend removing the hedging and enlarging the field to allow for greater planting.”
“And greater profits,” Jon murmured.
Winning Miss Winthrop Page 9