“Rian Connor!” Spittle flew from Isabel’s mouth as she struggled with her temper. “He is mine, and I am not about to give him up to some dockside slattern!” Animosity morphed into pure, naked hatred and it oozed from every pore.
“Give him up?”
Catherine decided Isabel must have lost her mind, and it struck her that the fashionably dressed woman might also be dangerous. A sudden chill went through her. And then, as Isabel’s words sank in, an unexpected revelation was born. Even though it made Catherine want to turn cartwheels, she kept her expression fixed. It would not be to her advantage to let Lady Howard see she knew the truth.
This was not the woman Rian was going to marry.
The temper tantrum Isabel was currently throwing was proof enough, and for that Catherine was secretly elated, but even so, Isabel must surely know Rian was about to be married. What was she hoping for? That whatever relationship she had with him would continue after he had taken his vows? Catherine felt her own temper beginning to rise. She might not know Rian as well as Isabel, and most certainly not as intimately, but she would go to her grave sure of one thing.
Rian Connor was not the type of man to bed one woman after pledging himself to another. And there was something else. Catherine decided she was not going to let her ladyship get away with making false accusations regarding her own reputation. A fierce burning need within her would not allow her honor to be sullied by a woman of questionable character and morals. Even if she did have a title.
It took some effort, but Catherine was able to keep her voice at a moderate, conversational level as she spoke, “Lady Howard, you accuse me of trying to win a place in Mr. Connor’s affections, a place you believe is reserved for you alone. But from your obvious distress it would seem the feeling is one sided and tenuous at best.” She ignored the high spots of color that now appeared on Isabel’s cheeks. “Believe me, Lady Howard, when I tell you that this is no game on my part. If you have any knowledge of my identity, then surely it would be in your own interest to reveal it, thus removing the obstacle that prevents me from leaving this house.”
Isabel balled her hands into fists, and shook both of them at Catherine. “I may not know who you are, but I know only too well what you are!”
Catherine arched a brow. “Then I beg of you to share your insight. I’m certain it will be more than enlightening.”
As if suddenly realizing how close she was to losing control of herself, Isabel took a deep breath. “You’re nothing but a trollop,” she said in a voice that did little to disguise her cold fury. “A doxie who has managed to wheedle her way beneath this roof with some ridiculous tale of woe in order to gain sympathy, and the hope of bettering her situation.” Isabel’s voice turned hard. “I know very well the lengths a woman such as you will go to in order to win over a man like Rian Connor.”
Unable to believe her ears, Catherine stared at Isabel, aghast. This was too much. Who was this woman to dare speak to her like this? What gave her the right to make such wild, inflammatory allegations? Catherine stood, grimacing at the sudden shooting pains in her legs, and turned her back on Isabel.
“Tell me, your ladyship,” she snarled over her shoulder as her own temper flared, “if you believe this to be some sort of trickery.”
Loosening the ties on the bodice of her dress with trembling fingers, Catherine pulled her heavy braid aside and exposed her back to Isabel. There was a deafening silence as Isabel took in the still vibrant crisscross pattern of healing welts, and the jagged scar that burned an angry crimson flame in Catherine’s pale skin.
“A pretty piece of work to give weight to your story,” Isabel commented with no show of emotion. “Though it appears the hand you employed had more enthusiasm than actual skill.”
Shocked by Isabel’s words, Catherine pulled her dress closed and refastened the ties as Isabel continued her venomous attack.
“If you expect to lie with a member of this household, you should confine yourself to one of the stable boys, or mayhap all of them. Do not delude yourself into thinking the master of this house will ever welcome you to his bed, or come to yours. You are nothing but an obligation he will relinquish at the earliest opportunity, and be relieved to do so.”
An angry swish of taffeta accompanied Isabel as she stalked across the room, and her hand was stretched out, reaching for the door handle, when Catherine’s voice stopped her.
“Lady Howard?” With her emotions still running high, Catherine’s voice cut like steel.
“What?” Isabel ground out between clenched teeth.
“I fear I owe you an apology.” Isabel turned her head, a triumphant look on her face as Catherine continued. “You made it quite plain that there was a whore in this room, but never having made the acquaintance of such a person, forgive me for not knowing what I was looking at.”
Chapter 28
Mrs. Hatch returned to the master suite with a tea tray and a maid carrying a vase of colorful blooming flowers. Unfortunately Catherine was still too upset to appreciate either. Although no longer in danger of letting her temper get the better of her, she was hard pressed to say which troubled her more. Isabel’s horrid accusations or the fact she had actually called a woman who boasted a title a whore. Catherine told herself she should be scolded for not having apologized immediately and begged forgiveness, but in truth she knew she would never apologize, and she felt absolutely no remorse.
The housekeeper was more pleased than alarmed by Catherine’s agitated state. It was proof that her chick had the mettle to stand up for herself, but it still took some coaxing before Mrs. Hatch was able to get Catherine back into the big bed. It was hard to continue to feel angry when pillows were being plumped and someone was concerned enough with your agitated state to fuss over you. Exhaustion replaced her anger, leaving Catherine feeling wrung out, like a limp rag.
“Why would she say such horrible things to me?” she asked, momentarily forgetting the housekeeper had not been present during her conversation with Isabel.
It was obvious Catherine was upset, and, despite a burning curiosity about whatever horrible things Isabel had said, Mrs. Hatch decided having the conversation repeated would serve no good purpose. Besides, the housekeeper did not need to know the details. As far as she was concerned Isabel Howard never had anything good to say, and could upset a person simply by being in the same room.
“Some women are just born spiteful,” she told Catherine, “and there’s no changing them.”
Accepting the hot drink being offered, Catherine caught the older woman’s expression over the rim of the cup. “You don’t like Lady Howard very much, do you?” she asked.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Mrs. Hatch caught a wayward curl and tucked it back into her charge’s thick, blonde braid. “It would be more truthful to say I don’t like her at all.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then let’s not talk about her anymore.”
Mrs. Hatch’s words and solicitous gestures worked as a balm to soothe the barbs left by Isabel’s vicious tongue, and before long Catherine’s mood, while not fully restored to its usual good humor, definitely showed signs of improvement. She looked across the room at the colorful blooms the maid had placed on the table. “What beautiful flowers!” she exclaimed.
“They most certainly are,” Mrs. Hatch agreed.
One of the books Catherine had kept from Tilly’s excursion to the library was a botanical volume. Though she found the text somewhat difficult, she had been delighted by the large detailed drawings of many of the flowers, and had spent hours simply looking at the pictures. The colorful blossoms had stirred her interest because she could recall some bed curtains embroidered with flowers. Whom the bed curtains belonged to she could not say, but there was no denying the warmth surrounding the pale, vague memory. Apparently the young maid had not kept this revelation to herself, because now Catherine had a vase filled with similar blooms. A rich display of color to please the eye, and make her think perha
ps Rian still held her in some measure of favorable regard.
“Please thank Master Rian for me,” she said.
Mrs. Hatch chuckled. “Oh lass, these are not his doing.” She began to reposition the few stems that had been disturbed by their journey, and seeing the puzzled look on Catherine’s face, the housekeeper smiled. “These are from the hothouse at Pelham Manor. I recognize Miss Felicity’s hand when I see it.”
Catherine frowned. The name was one she had not heard before. “Who is Miss Felicity?”
“Why, Mr. Connor’s betrothed.”
Catherine’s stomach roiled, and whatever joy she had derived from the lovely floral display suddenly soured. It mattered not that what she was hearing was a confirmation that Isabel was not Rian’s intended, Catherine would have been quite happy to remain ignorant of any details about his bride-to-be. Knowing her name made her all the more real, only she didn’t understand why Isabel would think Catherine was a threat when it was actually a woman named Felicity. It made no sense, but whatever the reason, she didn’t want to think about it. A wave of anguish began to rise, threatening to drown her, and she wanted nothing more than to bury her head beneath the covers and wallow in self-pity.
“No doubt Master Liam told Miss Felicity you were here, and acts of kindness such as this only go to prove he’s a very lucky man.”
It took Catherine a moment to realize another new name had just been thrown at her, but she was too dismayed to be curious. “What makes him so lucky?” she asked instead.
Finally satisfied with the floral display, Mrs. Hatch turned around. “Why marrying Miss Felicity, of course.”
“He’s marrying…” Catherine was confused. “Who is he?”
“Master Liam is Master Rian’s younger brother. His marriage is the reason Master Rian has come home, and I thank God for it I can tell you.”
“His marriage?” The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them, and Catherine felt light headed. It was always possible, but surely there would not be two weddings taking place. “But I thought—is it not Master Rian who is to be married?”
“Bless you lass, no. Whoever ever told you such a thing?” Mrs. Hatch stood at the foot of the bed, hands on her hips, wearing a look of exasperated amusement on her face.
“Well, you did actually.”
“I did?” Now it was the housekeeper’s turn to be confused. “No, surely not. Why would I say such a thing?” She paused and frowned, trying to recall the moment. “When did I tell you Master Rian was getting married?”
“Um, when you first told me I was being sent away.” Catherine recalled the details of their conversation to see if she had been mistaken.
“And I told you that it was Master Rian who was getting married?” Mrs. Hatch repeated suspiciously.
“Well, not in those exact words,” Catherine clarified. “We were talking about Mr. Connor, I mean Master Rian, and you said I was being sent away to Oakhaven, but you couldn’t go with me because you were making wedding preparations, and so I just assumed—”
“That it was Master Rian who was about to take a wife,” Mrs. Hatch finished for her.
Catherine made a squeaking noise as her face turned red. “I didn’t know there was another one.”
Mrs. Hatch opened her mouth and then shut it with a snap. The only time Liam had seen Catherine was the same day she had been brought here, and she obviously had no recollection of him. “Well, lass, in all fairness the fault is mine. I should have been more plain. I suppose I just took it for granted someone had told you about Master Liam, although I can’t imagine why they would.”
“How many of them are there?” Catherine asked faintly, beginning to feel ridiculously giddy. Rian was not getting married, and no marriage meant no fiancée!
Mrs. Hatch chuckled. “Just the two of them, lass, though Lord knows when they were lads there always seemed to be one too many.”
“You’re very fond of them, aren’t you?”
“Aye, well I’ve been in service to the family since I was a young lass, before they were born. I came with their mother so I’ve known them both all their lives. It almost broke my heart when Master Rian left like he did.”
“I’m so sorry.” Though she had nothing to do with it, Catherine still felt the need to apologize.
“Well, it’s all better now that he’s back where he belongs.”
“So will you thank Miss Felicity for the flowers?” Catherine asked, now giving the blooms the appreciation they deserved.
“Well, I don’t know as I’ll see her before the wedding, but I’ll make sure to send word so she knows you liked them.” Seeing her chick trying unsuccessfully to stifle a yawn, the housekeeper began fussing once more. “Time to stop this chattering and let you get some rest. You’ll feel much better after you take a nap.”
“I don’t know why I’m suddenly so tired.” Catherine looked suspiciously at the teacup the housekeeper now held. “Did you give me one of Dr. MacGregor’s sleeping draughts?”
“Aye, well after your to-do with Lady Muck, I thought you might need some help relaxing.”
Whether real or simply the power of suggestion, Catherine felt a lethargy stealing into her limbs. She slid farther down the bed. “That woman said some truly horrid things to me,” she admitted sleepily.
“I’m so sorry you had to listen to the wicked bitch!”
“She thinks I’m a threat,” Catherine murmured, disbelievingly.
“Does she now?” Mrs. Hatch cooed softly. “And why would she think that, lass?” Catherine’s eyelids fluttered closed and she gave a deep sigh. “She thinks…Master Rian…is interested…in me.”
“Oh lass, we can only hope.”
* * * *
Rian watched Catherine sleep. Dark lashes fluttering against her flushed cheek made him nervous, but the smooth contour of her brow, and the slight upturn at the corners of her mouth brought a measure of relief. Whatever the imaginings of her subconscious, they were pleasant ones. He had been concerned the effects of meeting Isabel might follow Catherine as she slumbered, and he was grateful to see it appeared not to be so. Sitting in the chair at the side of her bed, he allowed himself to relax.
He was furious with Isabel for having caused Catherine any distress, but he also needed to wait before addressing the incident with her. Painfully aware of his error in judgment at their previous meeting, Rian wanted to be sure there would be no misunderstandings this time. To say the encounter between the two women had not gone well was an understatement. He was actually of a mind to say it had ended disastrously if Isabel’s departure was any indication. The sound of the front door being closed with enough force to bring him out of the drawing room had been startling, and the horrified expression on the footman’s face left him in no doubt that waiting for Isabel to join him was no longer necessary.
“She wouldn’t let me open the door,” the man apologized, not wanting to be thought neglectful in his duties. “She—she closed it with her own hand.” His face colored as he realized how disrespectful he was being. “Her ladyship, I mean,” he muttered hastily.
Rian was uncertain if the man’s demeanor was due to witnessing Isabel performing a menial task unaided, or if this was his first brush with a volatile temper in a member of the fairer sex. “They can be quite unpredictable when you get them riled,” he said, deciding on the latter.
“Strong too,” the man observed, having firsthand knowledge of just how much strength was required to make the heavy door rattle so.
“Indeed,” Rian agreed.
The impulse to race up the stairs to Catherine’s room and learn for himself what had happened was forestalled by Mrs. Hatch. She had remained in the hallway, only a few feet from the closed bedroom door, and had witnessed for herself Isabel’s dramatic departure. Now the housekeeper counseled patience. If, as she suspected, Rian was the subject of whatever discourse had taken place, Catherine’s temper might be such that seeing him would only agitate her further. It was good a
dvice, but he did not return to the drawing room until he had been assured that the encounter had not reduced Catherine to tears.
“You’re sure she’s not weeping or upset?” he asked the maid who had taken in Felicity’s flowers, and was now retuning empty-handed.
“Oh, she’s upset,” the girl had told him with a smile wise beyond her years, “but she’s not weeping, sir, nor do I think she will be.”
With no other choice, he returned to the drawing room to wait for Mrs. Hatch. It was frustrating not knowing the nature of Isabel’s personal questions, or any answer given by Catherine in response. What had been said was a mystery, and would most likely remain so as far as Rian was concerned. Mrs. Hatch had refused to divulge anything that Catherine may have told her, telling him it was up to Catherine to share any or all of the conversation if she so wished. He’d given the woman his most ardent, penetrating stare, but she was not moved.
“That look didn’t work when you were a lad,” she reminded him with a shake of her head. Abashed, Rian apologized. “I’m not saying the lass hasn’t been affected by the meeting,” she said, offering him what sympathy she could, “but only time will tell how much.” Her mouth pulled into a tight line of concern. “Tis a shame you had not already taken the lass to Oakhaven. All of this unpleasantness could have been avoided.”
“What’s done is done,” Rian said with a grimace, “and that I cannot change, but I can take steps to ensure it will not happen again. How soon can Catherine be ready to leave?”
“Would first thing in the morning suit?”
He smiled. It would suit very well indeed.
Now it was close to midnight, and, as he had on almost every night since her fever broke, Rian sat by Catherine’s bedside listening to the even rhythm of her breathing. She rolled onto her side, brows pulling together, lips compressed as pain flared briefly. Her body was still healing, and it would take some time before it was completely well, if it ever was. The thought suddenly occurred to Rian that Catherine might never be comfortable lying on her back. A sudden heat spiking in his groin brought to mind a very particular instance where such a position might be required. But no matter. He was an experienced lover with no qualms whatsoever about being the one to adopt a supine position. He ought to have been shocked by such a thought, but he wasn’t. Instead he welcomed the opportunity to acknowledge the part of him that recognized how much he wanted Catherine to be a part of his life. Had wanted her since the first moment he’d seen her.
Mischance (Corsets and Carriages) Page 21