Mischance (Corsets and Carriages)

by Carla Susan Smith

  Mrs. Hatch continued to talk, a frown creasing her brow. “To my mind Master Rian will only be able to spend a day or two at Oakhaven before having to turn around and come back here.”

  Suddenly the idea of being with Rian in the confined space of a carriage was not as appealing as it had been only moments ago. In a single heartbeat a wondrous possibility had become a nightmare. It was more than Catherine could bear. “Surely, if I am to leave, there is no need to bother Mr. Connor with my departure. Could I not travel with you?”

  “Lord bless you, child! I cannot dare to imagine the uproar that would take place if I was to leave.” Mrs. Hatch chuckled softly. “No, it is best that I remain here. I will come to Oakhaven once the happy couple are wed.”

  Catherine’s misery now plummeted to new depths. She couldn’t imagine herself going to a strange place without the gentle comfort of this woman who had, in a short time, become more important to her than she realized. Noticing her expression, the housekeeper patted her arm, reassuringly.

  “Tilly will go with you, and you will be quite safe with Master Rian. He was most insistent that no one else was to accompany you to Oakhaven.” Gently, she brushed a stray curl from Catherine’s forehead. “It is a beautiful house, and I will be there before you have a chance to miss me.”

  “Do you promise?”

  “I do,” Mrs. Hatch said solemnly, taking hold of Catherine’s hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Feel better now?”

  She nodded, and both women sipped their tea until Catherine broke the companionable silence. “Mrs. Hatch, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course, lass, anything you like.” The housekeeper spooned a generous helping of sugar into her cup, and began stirring.

  “What did Mr. Connor mean when he said I should think of myself as his equal because of what we had been through?”

  For a few moments the only noise heard was the gentle clink of a spoon tapping against the inside of a cup. It seemed to Catherine that the housekeeper was trying to decide if she should respond at all, but a glance at the older woman’s face said her question was not unexpected.

  Mrs. Hatch had wondered if Catherine would ask what she knew about that particular time, and the housekeeper had told herself she would be honest with the young woman, just as she had in answering all of Catherine’s other questions. But it didn’t make the telling of it any easier.

  “Before I answer, lass, you must believe me when I say you were very ill. So ill you were not aware of anything you said or did. And no one knows that better than Master Rian.”

  “Master…Rian?” Catherine’s voice dropped to a tremulous whisper. Whatever this kindly woman was going to tell her, she was certain of two things. It would be the absolute truth, and it would be bad. Very bad.

  “I know your memory has not yet come back to you,” Mrs. Hatch started, “but can you tell me if you remember anything about when you first met Master Rian, or when he brought you here?”

  Catherine shook her head. “In truth, I don’t remember anything, but you told me he saved my life.”

  “Aye lass, he did.”

  And so the motherly woman explained how Rian had, by chance, come across her down by the docks, and stopped her from throwing herself into the river. Then, because she had fainted, he’d brought her here, to his brother’s house, where the full extent of her injuries was made known to them.

  “But…who would have done such a thing to me?” Catherine asked fearfully, unaware this was the first time she had ever asked about the person responsible for assaulting her.

  “That is something we don’t know, lass.” Mrs. Hatch’s eyes were sympathetic, but the hesitancy lingering in her words told Catherine she was keeping something from her.

  “Tell me all of it, Mrs. Hatch. I need to hear it all. Please do not spare me the smallest detail, for not knowing will do me more harm than good, I assure you.”

  Taking hold of Catherine’s hands, the housekeeper spoke softly about how Rian was the only person Catherine would allow near her while her fever raged.

  “You did not stay with me? He made you leave?”

  “Oh no, lass, it wasn’t the master that made me leave. It was you.”

  Had Catherine realized the details of her illness would fill her with mortifying shame, she might have reconsidered asking for such an honest account. It made no difference that she had been out of her mind, with no conscious knowledge of her actions. She had been naked and ranting in the presence of a man who had no business seeing her in such a state. Her behavior was worse than that of a common streetwalker, if what she knew about those women was to be believed, and Rian was to be married! He must have been as horrified by her behavior as she was now. No wonder he had been avoiding her.

  “As I said,” Mrs. Hatch continued gently, “you were very sick, and unable to think clearly. Believe me we were truly grateful for the moments when you were so tired you no longer had the strength to fight him.”

  “I fought Mr. Connor?”

  “Aye lass, but when you tired he was able to persuade you to take a few sips of broth and let me change your dressings.”

  “And he stayed with me? Through it all?” Catherine’s voice was low and her cheeks burned furiously.

  “You would not let him leave you. Not until your fever had run its course.”

  A rapid flurry of images suddenly appeared in her mind, and Catherine gripped Mrs. Hatch’s hand tightly, her eyes glistening with un-spilled tears. “I thought it was my imagination,” she said in a horrified whisper. “I thought he was someone I had conjured up, not a real man made of flesh and blood!” Her grip tightened, making the older woman wince. “What else did I do? You must tell me.”

  Pulling her hand free, Mrs. Hatch drew Catherine into a gentle embrace. “Only two people know what took place in this room during that time”—her eyes flicked toward the bed—“and I know Master Rian will never speak of it to anyone.”

  No wonder Rian had described their intimacy as exhausting. To learn that she had been with him in such a way was unbearable. How was she supposed to ever look at him again?

  As the full impact of the housekeeper’s words flowed over her, Catherine gave a stifled sob, and buried her face in the woman’s shoulder as the sea of tears she had been holding back finally broke free.

  “There, there, lass. Let it out. Let it all out,” Mrs. Hatch soothed.

  Chapter 25

  Lying in the big bed, Catherine let her mind recall the day’s events. It seemed as if an eternity had passed since she had first awoken in this room. Her concerns about her physical well-being had quickly been dispelled. She was healing at a remarkable rate thanks to the diligent care she was receiving and her own body’s healthy constitution. Dr. MacGregor, whom she liked very much, had been honest enough to tell her that despite his best efforts, she would carry a permanent reminder of her ordeal. One of the lash marks across her back had been particularly deep, the wound unable to heal without the aid of stitches.

  “I tried my best to close the edges as neatly as possible,” he apologized, “but my mother did nae think sewing was a skill required of any of her sons.”

  Catherine assured him a scar on her back was no cause for distress, and she had no reason to be vain. Her comment made the physician wonder if she had been raised without a looking glass in her home. Apart from the occasional itch as the healing process continued, Catherine’s only complaint about the scar was not being able to sleep on her back. The puckered skin still chafed at the pressure. Still, she recalled the scar had not bothered her at all when Rian held her in his arms. But even if it had, she suspected she would not have noticed. Her thoughts had been fixed on a very different place.

  She was already far too aware of Master Rian’s comings and goings. It had not taken her long to identify each set of footsteps that passed by her door. There was Tilly’s girlish skip, Mrs. Hatch’s no-nonsense tread, and then a certain long, easy stride that caused a strange fluttering sensat
ion in her chest. At first she told herself it was her imagination that made her think the footsteps slowed as they approached her door, but when it happened three nights in a row she knew it was not a mistake. What did he do as he stood on the other side? Did he regret saving her? Did he wish her a good night’s sleep? A speedy recovery? Catherine had no idea, but each night she found herself waiting for the sound of his footsteps to pause before continuing down the hall.

  What was it that drew her to him? Even now, as she lay on her pillows with only the pale flicker of candlelight to keep away the shadows, there was a dryness in the back of her throat, a quickening of her pulse when she brought the image of his face to her mind. A single look was enough to make an unexplainable ache manifest within her. A sensation that had exploded on seeing him standing in the doorway. Was this what desire felt like? She didn’t know, but she imagined it might be, especially as the hunger brought with it a heat that throbbed between her thighs.

  Secretly Catherine had hoped Rian would confirm her preposterous idea of their being married, for she could not imagine feeling this way about a man she had no emotional tie to. But the crushing denial had been a declaration that he did not share the same feelings for her. Why then had he been so hurt when she snatched her hand away, and why allow her to see it in his eyes? It was more than a reaction to a lack of manners on her part. Rian might not be experiencing the same depth of feeling she did, but he felt something.

  Mrs. Hatch’s decision to spend time with Catherine each day was reaping numerous benefits. Not only did it ease the tedium of her convalescence, but talking with the housekeeper also stemmed the fear she felt at losing her memory. In the beginning their conversation revolved around the household. The number of boys to be hired to clean the windows, a new recipe cook wanted to try for dinner, the need to dismiss the laundry girl for ruining two of Master Rian’s shirts. It was idle chitchat about the mundane in the hope a casual reference might open a door to the familiar. But as Catherine became more comfortable with the housekeeper, it was she who began to ask questions. Mainly about Mrs. Hatch and her children, and then about the Connor family. She did not, however, share her feelings about Rian.

  Convinced that some unknown connection was behind her response to him, Catherine believed their pasts might be linked. But Mrs. Hatch had quickly refuted the possibility, telling her Master Rian had only recently returned from overseas. Was it possible Catherine’s family had dealings in the Americas? She frowned and chewed on her lower lip in frustration. Anything was possible, but the suggestion did not feel as if it had merit, and so she discarded it.

  In the beginning she had been grateful for Rian’s continued absence. It made sifting through the chaos in her head easier to deal with, but then she found herself mired in a pit of conflicting sensations that both scared and aroused her. The only thing she was able to discern from the turmoil was the persistent sense of being connected to him. Yet she had no idea how…or why.

  Until now.

  She had believed the images in her head were a product of her own fevered imagination, or the good doctor’s sleeping draughts, but Catherine now struggled to come to terms with the truth. The man she had fought with in her delirium had been very real.

  It was Rian who had prevented her from harming herself, who comforted her when she collapsed in exhaustion, who held her tightly to him, allowing her soft curves to meld against his hard frame, and who whispered promises to her in the dark as he wiped down her burning skin. She recalled the muscular feel of his arms as he cradled her against his chest, and the easy way he held her seemed the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of his body had awakened the hunger which had turned into a raging torrent and she had been helpless to stop it from roaring through her.

  Catherine was barely able to admit to herself that she dreamed about him. Dreams in which he touched her with a familiarity that could never be described as exhausting. She would come awake with trembling limbs and his name on her lips as she yearned for him. Only now she had to conceal such feelings. Lock them away deep inside her in a place where, given enough time, they would wither and die.

  He was promised to another.

  She fell back among the pillows. Perhaps being sent away was for the best. Rian would surely be relieved to have her gone. Distancing herself from him would help conquer feelings that she now knew were hopeless. She needed to focus her energies on other things. Her body was healing. Now it was time to heal her mind.

  No one could imagine the anguish that came with having no recollection of her past. Though Mrs. Hatch felt a great deal of empathy, her response was that of a mother seeing her child in pain. Dr. MacGregor would be quite surprised at how often Catherine did gaze at her reflection in a mirror, but it was not to admire the handsomeness of her features. She was searching for recognition. The face that stared back was that of a stranger. There was nothing familiar about the shape of her eyes, the curve of her cheek, or the width of her mouth. Did she favor her mother or her father? Which of them had given her the color of her hair? She ran the tips of her fingers lightly over the calluses on each palm, but had no idea what had caused them.

  Her mind was clear enough when it came to commonplace details, and she could function perfectly well on a day-to-day basis. But she was unable to recall any personal particulars. Sometimes she thought she saw images in her mind. Blurred pictures she knew were important, but when she reached out to examine them, they vanished like a will-o’-the-wisp. The only thing that had surfaced from the grey fog shrouding her memories had been her first name, and she knew intuitively that Catherine was her true name. But why was she unable to recall her family name? And now, apparently she also knew someone called Edward. A brother or a cousin perhaps? Surely only a relative would teach her such vile phrases.

  She sighed. Sensibly she reasoned she had no future until her memory was restored and she could remember her past, but why did she feel so despondent at the thought Rian might not be a part of either?

  Chapter 26

  The clock on the mantel chimed the hour and the ache in her lower back told Catherine she had been sitting for too long. Almost a week had passed since her conversation with Mrs. Hatch and she had seen nothing of Rian. She did not inquire as to his whereabouts, and no one offered any information regarding his absence. She had no doubt, however, that he knew of her conversation with Mrs. Hatch. What he now thought of her she couldn’t begin to imagine. She had absolutely no idea how she was going to be able to face him. All she could do was hope his forthcoming wedding would be enough reason for him not to seek her out.

  She offered some advice to her reflection as she smoothed her hair. “Should Mr. Connor deign to converse with you again, you will simply have to follow his lead. Mrs. Hatch has assured you he will not refer to the matter, so stop imagining the worst, and hold your own tongue.”

  It was good advice, but Catherine had the oddest feeling that too often her emotions got the better of her, and advice in any form made a quick exit through the closest door or nearest window. She had the uncanny feeling it was something she experienced more often than she should.

  Ignoring her own warning, Catherine decided a walk would be a good way to stretch out her back. Carefully she swung her legs over the edge of the chaise and pushed herself up off the seat until she was standing. She only winced a little with the effort, and was able to complete two full circuits of the room before making her way to the large picture window. Settling herself down on the cushioned window seat, she gazed with interest at the world beyond the glass. There was a good view of the street and the park beyond, and though there was now less pedestrian traffic due to the colder weather, there was always something to see.

  She tucked a leg beneath her, her hand smoothing out a wrinkle in the skirt of her dress. She was still wearing the loose-fitting garments made specifically for her, and had been surprised to learn it was Rian who had given instructions to the dressmaker. But the sack dresses weren’t all he’d requested
to be made. His generosity had included the provision of an entire wardrobe.

  The trunks had arrived a few days ago, and Tilly had squealed in delight at being allowed to open them. A mix of fashionable day dresses and evening gowns had been eagerly pulled out. All of them Catherine would delight in wearing, when she could suffer a corset once more. Holding up a pale blue muslin with lace embellishments at the neckline and sleeves, she could see it was almost a perfect fit.

  “How on earth did he know what measurements to give the dressmaker?” she asked.

  Mrs. Hatch, who had joined them, answered with an enigmatic smile. “Master Rian,” she said, “has always been blessed with a most discerning eye.” And she refused to say any more on the matter. If nothing else, Catherine could not fault his taste. The selection of colors and fabrics made him quite a connoisseur of women’s fashion.

  A frown now creased her brow as she stared out the window. Was it improper to accept such generosity? While it was true she needed clothes, surely only one or two of the plainer dresses would suffice. What need had she of ball gowns? She would tell Mrs. Hatch to have them returned. Her debt to Rian was already more than she could ever repay, and once she was no longer his concern, he would give her no more than a passing thought. Her frown deepened, and she instantly became depressed by the idea of leaving. Any hope that his renewed absence would help conquer her feelings was proving useless. She was ashamed to admit that not even knowing he was betrothed was making a difference. The flame within her continued to burn just as brightly, just as strong.

  While she stared out through the pane of glass, movement caught her attention. She was surprised to see snowflakes, the first of the season. So delighted was she by their appearance she didn’t realize a carriage had pulled up to the house until the coachman jumped down. The only visitor who had come thus far had been Dr. MacGregor, but this carriage was much too grand to belong to him. Curious, Catherine watched the coachman as he opened the carriage door, and put down the steps. The exhale of his breaths created puffs of smoke that wreathed about his hat as he now extended his hand to the occupant.