Catherine gave him a speaking look, and turned to Perry. “I gather you would prefer your opera to be in French.”
“I think I’d prefer it to not be opera.”
“Perry has never been very musical, unlike my sweet Sophia.”
“And how is sweet Sophia?”
As soon as she asked the question, Catherine knew she shouldn’t have. When Lady Milton finally paused in her litany of praise and drew breath, so did the rest of the table.
“Well, I am pleased for her.” Catherine turned to Perry. “Tell me—”
“And how is your dear Mama?” This to Catherine. “I was hoping to see her here tonight.” Lady Milton craned her neck and looked around, as though Catherine’s mother might suddenly appear from behind a column.
“She is not hiding from you, if that is what you were expecting.”
“Oh, no, no. Of course not.” She gave a foolish titter.
“My sister is in mourning, Lady Milton,” Aunt Drusilla said. “She does not attend evening routs.”
“Of course not, no. I would not expect her to. That would be most improper.”
Then why had she hoped to see her tonight? Catherine swallowed her retort.
“A remarkably foolish woman,” the general growled.
“I was merely hoping she would be amenable to a visit from an old friend.”
“Who?” the general asked in a louder voice.
“Why, myself, of course.”
“Oh. I had to wonder when you said you expected to see her here. You appeared almost disappointed she was not, and further disappointed to find she had not broken society’s rules. I had to wonder if such an attitude were indicative of friendship.”
Lady Milton drew herself up. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you might have a fair idea.” The general pushed to his feet, pinched Catherine’s chin, and made a series of lavish bows. “I hope to see you good people on the morrow,” he said to Catherine and her aunt. He turned to Perry and his mother. “Good evening.”
Perry rose to return the bow, while his mother simply stared with an icy glare.
“What an odd man. Such extraordinary manners.”
“We have found him most convivial company, have we not, Catherine?”
“The general is very pleasant,” she agreed.
“Well, I don’t know what your mother might say should she know he was taking such liberties with you.”
Catherine winced, wishing Lady Milton’s voice wasn’t quite so carrying.
“He has taken no liberties with my niece, and I would thank you for keeping your voice down.”
“Well!”
“Catherine, are you quite finished? I see dear Lady Northam over there, and find myself needing to speak with her at once.”
“Oh, but before you go, Mrs. Villiers, might I impose on your good nature and call upon poor Elvira tomorrow? I’m sure she would welcome a visit from an old friend, would you not agree, dear Catherine?”
Manners forbade her initial response. She merely replied in the affirmative.
“Oh, good. Then I wish you good night.”
This was said with a complacent smile, one that left Aunt Drusilla agitated. “I do wish you could have staved her off with an excuse. That type of woman insinuates herself into people’s lives and then there is no getting rid of her. Next she’ll be expecting an invitation to tea!”
Catherine said nothing. There was nothing to say, as she strongly suspected her aunt to be right. Coupled with this was a misgiving equally strong: that her time in Bath would be tainted the longer Lady Milton was around.
AUNT DRUSILLA WAS sadly not mistaken. Lady Milton’s threatened visit the next day somehow transmogrified into a dinner invitation, which, issued as it was by Mama, neither of them could prevent. The following evening’s meal was not even leavened by the presence of the general, as Lady Milton’s murmurs had snaked into Mama’s misgivings, resulting in her declaration to not wish her daughter to have anything to do with “that man” until further notice.
Her aunt’s objections were fierce, but Mama was adamant, leaving Catherine upset, and more determined than ever to not sit meekly by when Lady Milton made her outrageous comments, as she inevitably would.
Perry joined them, his absence at yesterday’s visit due, so his mother had said, to her sudden need to secure the services of a Doctor Janus. Of course, her lack of immediate need—evidenced by her sitting placidly in Aunt Drusilla’s drawing room—lent doubt to such assertions, only furthering suspicions that Perry’s absence was merely a device to inveigle a return visit, during which the oh-so-helpful son would be produced.
Why such measures were necessary remained a mystery, until halfway through the meal, during the second course, when the beeswax candles had lowered an inch.
Catherine turned to Perry, seated on her right. “So, tell me how you have been these past months. I have rarely seen you since the Hawkesbury dinner.”
“Perry has been most assiduous in his duties to the good people of St. Hampton Heath.”
“Your duties?” Catherine asked.
“I assist Father with some village concerns.”
When his talk on what such duties involved shifted to plans concerning his father’s farm, and more particularly, breeds of cows, she nodded, returning her attention to the roasted capon. Aunt Drusilla might not always appreciate her guests, but she did know how to set a fine table.
“And the lodge, of course.”
She glanced up. He was still talking to her? “I beg your pardon?”
“He said he means to soon move to Ivy Lodge,” Lady Milton enunciated loudly, as though she might be talking to a deaf person.
Catherine glanced at her aunt amidst a horrible suspicion. Aunt Drusilla’s horrified expression suggested she shared similar distrust. Surely he wasn’t …
Perry intoned something about doing her a great honor. “For when I marry—”
“Lady Milton, may I enquire about your daughter’s youngest child?”
Desperation indeed, from her aunt whose loathing of Lady Milton’s constant references to her daughter had led her to issue an edict to never introduce Sophia into conversation. “For that woman introduces her too often as it is.”
Lady Milton, either oblivious to her son’s precipitous advances or simply pleased at such interest in her beloved Sophia, proceeded to list dear little Lucien’s various accomplishments, including—marvel of marvels—talking, at the age of seven months!
“I was not aware such prodigies existed in your family.”
“Well, to be sure, the babe sounds more like a mewling kitten most of the time, but I declare, when he sees me, the first thing he does is cry ‘Mam-mam.’”
“I’m sure many small children would cry for their mothers given such cause,” murmured her aunt.
“He is such a delightful child, although dear Sophia can find him a trial. He can be a handful, squalling from dawn ’til dusk. Fortunately, she has a bevy of nursemaids to assist her.”
“How beneficial for her,” Catherine said.
Lady Milton peered at her. “Well, yes. But then, she was lucky to have married so young, to such a handsome, well-connected young man. Some young ladies are so very fortunate,” she said complacently.
The unspoken implication was that some were not. Catherine exhaled. “Lavinia is very blessed, isn’t she?”
Her aunt’s lips twitched.
Mama nodded. “Yes, indeed.”
Lady Milton frowned. “Dear Catherine, I thought you seemed a little out of sorts the other night. I’d wondered if it was certain colors that did not become you, when I see it has been ill health all this time. I would have thought Bath had improved your looks by now.”
“It is sad, is it not, Lady Milton, how some of us are so frequently doomed for disappointment?” Catherine smiled sweetly.
The older lady’s brow creased.
The servants cleared the table for the next cour
se. When that was set and they left, Catherine turned to Perry. “Now, enough about Sophia. How are your younger sisters?”
“But Sophy—” began Lady Milton.
“Perry? Your younger sisters?” Catherine said determinedly.
He glanced at her, then at his mother, his mouth opening then closing like a fish.
“Sophia—”
“I am not asking about Sophia, ma’am, but her sisters.” “Catherine,” her mother interrupted. “I understood Sophia to be one of your closest friends. Surely you are interested in hearing more?”
“Mama, once upon a time I too thought Sophia one of my closest friends, but she has made little effort to keep in touch since her marriage, apart from one short note following Papa’s passing.”
“She has been very busy with her children—”
“For whom she has a bevy of nursemaids.” Catherine’s brows rose as she studied Lady Milton. “I wonder, how many times has she visited you in the past year?”
“Hmm. Three, no, four times, is it Perry?”
“At least,” he agreed.
“And not once has she deigned to visit Mama and me. Not once.”
“That is true,” Mama murmured.
Lady Milton’s chins rose. “I do not understand where this bitterness is coming from, Catherine.”
“Do you not?” Aunt Drusilla murmured, gimlet-eyed.
“It is not bitterness, Lady Milton, simply honesty.” Catherine continued, “It is hard to hold much interest in Sophia’s affairs, especially when we do not seem to be of interest to her. I suspect it is a truth better left unsaid, but I do not wish to be inflicted for the rest of my days with information about someone who has made their indifference to our own affairs so plain.”
“Well! You’ve certainly inherited your family’s shrewish tongue.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or perhaps she’s simply tired of listening to your gossipy, interfering one.”
“Drusilla!”
Catherine’s aunt placed her napkin on the table. “I do not know your antecedents, Lady Milton, but I have scarcely seen such a display of poor manners in all my years.”
“Yes, well, your niece—”
“Has been insulted, and badgered, and lectured by you, you, a puffed-up nobody from goodness knows where—”
Gasps echoed around the table.
“Who wheedled her way into my house, then proceeded to carry on boring the table with the unexciting exploits of her decidedly non-prodigious child, before having the temerity to accuse my niece of bitterness, when she merely speaks the truth.”
Lady Milton’s cheeks flushed magenta. “Such rudeness!”
“I do not invite you to visit again. I do not invite you to speak to me. In fact, I do not invite you to stay a moment longer.”
Lady Milton rose, her over-full bosom heaving. “I have never been so insulted in all my life!”
“Good evening to you. Oh, and to you also, Mr. Milton.”
Perry shot Catherine a look half affront and half apology, before escaping after his mother.
Aunt Drusilla sank back into her seat. “I am sorry, Elvira, if that woman truly thinks herself your friend.”
“Well …”
“But I’d be sorrier for you if you thought she was.”
Catherine chuckled. Even Mama smiled.
“Can you believe that young man? Was he really trying to make you an offer?”
A shudder ran through her. “I am so thankful you reclaimed the conversation.” Catherine turned to her mother. “Mama, I know you wish to see me safely wed, but I could never abide living with that woman as my mother-in-law.”
“And I could never permit you, either.”
“Such a vulgar mushroom,” said Aunt Drusilla.
The tension suddenly dropped as the room filled with quiet laughter.
“Come. I believe it is time for us to retire for the evening.”
Catherine smiled to herself as she climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Well there might be consequences to suffer tomorrow, but tonight she would enjoy her small victory for all its worth.
Meekness might be a virtue, but neither did it mean permitting oneself to be trampled upon.
A smile filled her face. She was a mouse no more.
CHAPTER EİGHTEEN
THE CONSEQUENCES FOR such free and honest speaking quickly became apparent. By the end of the following day, two of Mama’s anticipated visitors, a Mrs. Baxter and a Lady Hindmarsh, had sent notes of apology to say they were unexpectedly detained. By the end of the next day, they had had a harried visit from Lord Hawkesbury’s cousin, Miss Pettigrew, who had informed them both of the substance of the gossip—that the general was angling for Miss Winthrop—and its source. By the end of the week, Catherine’s visits to the Pump Room had seen such an increase in blatant speculation that it was nearly impossible to look anywhere without seeing an averted face or hearing her name whispered behind fluttering fans.
Catherine writhed within, yet—heeding a grim Aunt Drusilla’s advice and the flustered instructions of her mother—willed herself to smile, nod, and curtsy as society demanded.
The general, of course, thought it all a good joke, as evidenced by his unexpected arrival late on Saturday afternoon just when the ladies were about to dress for dinner. Instead of moving upstairs, they remained in the drawing room to hear the general recount stories from his week.
“And the old biddy barreled up to me and had the nerve to ask if it was true! I told her young Catherine was a bit young even for my tastes and still she tut-tutted!”
“Oh, what are we to do?” Mama moaned.
“What is there to do? Rumors cannot be quashed until truth is revealed, but people much prefer lies to the truth.”
“Thank you, Drusilla, but I cannot think philosophy will help Catherine’s reputation.”
“I don’t know why you are so concerned, Mama. It is not as though there are any real prospects here for us to be concerned about my reputation.”
“She’s right, Elvira,” said the general, whose familiarity of address gave Mama no shortage of complaint when he was out of earshot. “Bath has a shocking lack of truly eligible gentlemen for my young friend this year. I don’t know what the world is coming to.”
“Unless of course one was to count Mr. Milton as an eligible?” suggested Aunt Drusilla.
“I believe he no longer labors under any such misapprehension,” Catherine murmured, yesterday’s events rising to mind.
He had met her yesterday morning whilst she was returning a book at the library. Her first thought had been to snub him, before the words from her morning devotional came to mind. So she’d turned the other cheek, permitted him to escort her to a quiet corner of a nearby park, and allowed him to assert his apologies for his mother’s behavior, whilst she wondered how he could turn his neck, given the high points of his neckcloth were so stiff and starched.
“Must you stare at a fellow so?” He tugged at his cuffs. “I feel so wretched already.”
“I cannot be responsible for the guilt you feel. But tell me, have you spoken to your mother about her wicked lies?”
“I … er …”
“I take it that’s a no. Then I suppose you cannot have felt so terribly bad, after all.”
“But—”
“I am sorry, Perry. Sorry for this situation that escalated out of all proportion, merely from a kind elderly man taking pity on a poor fatherless girl. But I am sorrier for you.”
He flushed. “That is a fine way to speak to someone who had wished to do you a great honor!”
“The great honor of becoming your wife?”
His head jerked in a nod.
Her heart panged in sympathy. Poor Perry. Had he really thought she would be grateful? “I understand your desire to wed, especially after poor Amelia’s passing, but I am sorry Perry, the only thing I will bestow upon you is my failure to accept your proposal. It was very well expressed, you understand, and I am fully co
gnizant to the fact it must have taken a great deal of effort to con such sweet sayings, but I feel it would be doing us both a great disservice to accept a man I cannot love.”
“You cannot?” He seemed shocked at the notion.
“A man who does not, I think, love me.”
He flushed. “Oh, but … but I do think you rather pretty.”
“And yet marriage requires rather more than admiration of appearance, would you not agree? Come, Perry.” She smiled gently. “Can you really think your mother would approve?”
His brow knit, as if considering this for the first time.
“Will you be friends with me?” She held out her hand. “For old times’ sake?”
He grasped her hand reluctantly. “Very well.”
“And perhaps escort me on my way home?”
“Of course,” he muttered.
Their way home had necessitated a slow parade through the main streets, as Catherine “remembered” several items she needed to purchase. The advantages of such an exercise were twofold: firstly, to show that the general was not the only man willing to escort her around town; and secondly, that if people saw Peregrine Milton accompanying Catherine they might wonder at Lady Milton’s claims and suspect them as the wicked slander they were.
Of course—her lips twisted as the drawing room’s conversation swirled around her—she had not thought the consequences of such a promenade through to its entirety, as she’d learned just this morning that the Pump Room gossips now described her as fast. Fast? She smothered a wry chuckle. Perhaps once upon a dream. If only people truly knew how far from the truth that description held now.
“This is no smiling matter, Catherine!”
“Of course not, Mama. But I cannot see what is to be done. And I’m tired of acting like I should be ashamed of something, when we all know I am innocent.”
“But—” Mama glanced nervously at the general.
“Yes, yes. I know what you were about to say, my good woman. Perhaps my attentions did appear a trifle marked. But I agree with your good daughter here. I have done nothing wrong, and I refuse to apologize for preferring her youth and humor to those hen-witted scarecrows people think I should prefer.”
Winning Miss Winthrop Page 18