Not an Ordinary Baronet

by G. G. Vandagriff

  Gratified that her father had suggested the dinner party when he generally was not a social person, she decided that he really must have an interest in meeting Sir Bertie. She was glad, for the man had behaved in a heroic manner indeed.

  The party arrived just after eight o’clock. Catherine and her father met them in the drawing room, where she introduced everyone.

  “Sir Bertie,” her father said, “I understand I owe you a great debt. I can never adequately express my gratitude for your rescue of Catherine from her attackers.”

  “I was thankful that I was to hand, your lordship. It was indeed providential.”

  Lord Wellingham’s sister, Miss Arabella Saunders, whom Catherine had thought to invite, clutched her hands beneath her chin, saying, “It was ever so romantic!”

  Catherine blushed. “I promise, it wasn’t romantic at all! I was lying on the dirt, and my attackers were filthy brutes.”

  “But when you saw Bertie come for you . . .”

  “I did not even see him, Miss Saunders. I was unconscious. It was not at all like the best romances, I assure you.”

  The girl looked dashed. “How disappointing.”

  Catherine laughed. “Yes, it was very disappointing!”

  Sir Bertie, sipping his Madeira, had been following this exchange. “I wasn’t wearing my mask and sword, either,” he added.

  Arabella gave a small pout.

  “Catherine tells me you hail from Oxfordshire,” Lord Westbury said to Sir Bertie.

  “Yes. My family has been there since the Flood, I think. Lower Heyford.”

  “My daughter also says you are an Egyptologist.”

  “I confess it’s true. I became enthralled when I first saw the Rosetta Stone years ago. My brother-in-law brought some antiquities home from Egypt. Perhaps you have seen them in the British Museum?”

  “No. I am afraid I have been meaning to go for years but haven’t done so. Did you study the subject at Oxford?”

  “I did,” said Sir Bertie. “But new facts about the civilization are being uncovered all the time with the study of new finds.”

  “Sir Bertie lectures at the University, Papa,” said Catherine. “He is even having a go at translating the Rosetta Stone.”

  “It sounds rather like my obsession with botany,” said her father.

  Catherine was very pleased that Sir Bertie was making such a good impression. As the two continued their conversation, she asked Lady Wellingham how she was feeling.

  “As though I am increasing,” she said. “I am so glad your father has come to London. Is it really true that Lord Redmayne threw Bertie out of the house after he had rescued you?”

  Lady Wellingham’s words shocked Catherine. Of course, it was true. But she had seen it only as Robert’s small-mindedness, whereas it really was an egregious insult. Did Sir Bertie hold it against her?

  “I cannot be responsible for Robert’s actions. He is a complete snob. That is why I asked my father to come up to London. He is very grateful for Sir Bertie’s actions.”

  Lady Wellingham lowered her voice. “I do not think Bertie believes he should pursue the connection. He has not said so, but he is very discouraged.”

  Her words gave Catherine a ray of hope. Certainly, he would not be discouraged if he did not care for her!

  During the meal, Catherine had placed Sir Bertie next to her father at the head of the table, with Lord Wellingham at his other hand. Their conversation had switched to the Gentleman Smuggler.

  “Have you seen anyone hanging about Westbury House?”

  “No,” said her father. “But I am come up to London only today. We have not stirred from the house. But of course I am on the lookout.”

  So far in the evening, Catherine had not had the chance for private conversation with Sir Bertie. This frustrated her, but she was very glad to see her father warming to the man. After dinner, she was asked by her father to perform on the piano. Though she was proficient, she was not notably talented and would much rather have joined the card game.

  When the tea tray was wheeled in, she was finally able to stop, and she intentionally took a seat near Sir Bertie. “Did Lady Wellingham empty your pockets?”

  “Sad to say, she made a good stab at it,” he said. “Your father is a very different man than your brother.”

  “Yes, I am glad to say. I do not know how Robert came to be the man he is. Perhaps because of his associates. He runs in the Regent’s circle.” She wished she could hold Sir Bertie’s hand secretively as she had at Lady Clarice’s, but the party was small, and it would not go unnoticed. “I was sorry your sister could not join us tonight.”

  “She leaves for Oxfordshire tomorrow and has a great many things to see to.”

  Catherine asked the question which had been foremost in her mind. “Are you going with her?”

  “No. I want to see an end to this Gentleman Smuggler business. I don’t wish to alarm you, but I think your encounter in the Fotheringills’ garden the other night has increased the stakes in his mind. He thinks you saw him, or if you did not, he believes you may discover his identity at any time.”

  “I am glad, then, that you are here, Sir Bertie, but please do not feel you need to stay in London on my account.”

  His brows lowered in a frown over his gray eyes. It occurred to her in a flash that if she did not know better, she would think him the veriest rogue. His face was implacable at the moment.

  “I am determined to see the man caught and tried!” he said. “He meant to have you killed.”

  His passion on the subject warmed her through. But she felt it was time to change the subject. “Did you take the children to see the Royal Menagerie?” she asked.

  “Yes, please do let’s talk of something else,” he said. “The children enjoyed it very much. Gweet is very disappointed that she cannot have a lion cub. She thinks they are ‘ever so sweet.’”

  Lady Wellingham rose, her hand on her middle, and Catherine guessed that she wished to leave. She rose as well.

  “Now that my father is in residence, I hope you will not be a stranger,” she said to Sir Bertie. “Robert is at Newmarket.”

  He gazed steadily at her lips, and she felt a surge of desire rise inside her, making her throat ache. If only they could be alone.

  “Perhaps we can draw the fellow out if we go back to the museum tomorrow,” she suggested.

  “I would not use you as bait.”

  “As long as you are with me, I shall not worry about that. I just want this whole business to be over.” She smiled at him and put an arm through his as they walked across the room. “Plus, I confess I am anxious to see more of the antiquities.”

  He grinned, and she saw the dimples that so transformed his face. “Shall I call for you at half past one?”

  “That would be excellent,” she said.

  She took hope when, at leaving, he raised her hand to his lips and kissed her bare knuckles.

  “I like your baronet very well,” her father said. “And whatever you say, I think he likes you very well, too.”

  “The man is more than his rank,” she said.

  “But, should you marry, you would leave your own rank as my daughter and take on his. Should you mind?”

  “Should you?” she countered.

  “I think the quality of the man is what is most important. Your Cumberwell is to be an earl. Yet it turns out he is faithless.”

  “More faithless than you know,” she said. “He is behaving badly, hoping that Sybil will cry off. He says he now wants to resume our relationship.”

  “The deuce! I would never entrust you to him a second time!”

  “Do not worry, Father. I would not allow myself to be entrusted. I believe him to be a thorough rotter.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Marianne was loath to leave Bertie behind. “I hope you do not get yourself killed trying to rescue that woman,” she said as she oversaw the hoisting of her portmanteaux onto the back of her carriage.


  “She is not that woman. She is Lady Catherine, and I am worried rather that she is the one who will be killed. If I hadn’t come to London, she would have been.”

  “Such a lady will never settle down in Heyford Abbey, Bertie. She is used to fine houses and has grown up in a castle.”

  “Well, Heyford Abbey isn’t a castle, but if she would ever consent to marry me, I would celebrate by buying a house in Town.”

  “I talked to her at the ball in Somerset. Her favorite place is Dorset. You should need a house there, as well.”

  Her words depressed him. He had actually not thought his feelings through. He had only known from the moment of meeting her on the shore beneath Portland Bill that he had to have Lady Catherine for his own. He had never had such strong feelings for anyone he had met. Surely that counted for something!

  Having seen Marianne and the twins off, he retired to Beau’s library. His friend was at the Foreign Office this morning. He settled in a chair before the fire and tried to understand his thoughts.

  His relationship with Lady Catherine had put his emotions in a rare state. Analytical to a fault, now he hardly knew himself. Bertie now spent one day in hope only to be plunged into despair the following day.

  What Marianne had said was correct. What did he really have to offer the woman? Nothing like the life she had lived to this point. By her lights, his title was paltry and so was his property. While he could afford to buy a house in Town and keep a carriage here, Bertie did not have the resources for a house in Dorset as well. His social circle was very limited and not in any way similar to the one she currently enjoyed. Any children they might have would not have the advantages with which she had grown up as the daughter of a wealthy marquess.

  While her father had been very amenable the night before, how would he feel if he were to learn the true extent of this baronet’s feelings? Bertie’s spirits clouded over. Lady Catherine had his heart in her keeping. Even if she chose Cumberwell, it would still be so. On the beach that winter morning, she had stolen it with one tragic look from those sea-green eyes. Since then, she had only captivated him more as he had learned of her strength and bravery, not to mention her charitable heart. Every sight of her unsettled him, yet at the same time he felt a warmth he could not describe.

  Here he was, wavering in his intentions again. When he rescued Lady Catherine from the East End rogues, he was determined to do everything he could to see the relationship through. He had been determined not to step aside, even for Cumberwell or Lady Catherine’s wretched brother, Redmayne.

  Were his doubts merely a way of cushioning him from what he thought would be future disappointment? Was he doing Lady Catherine a disservice by pursuing her?

  His mental processes had never been so unclear! He was a scholar, not a schoolboy. He needed to be rational about this.

  Taking out a sheet of stationery from his desk, he began to write, hoping to order his mind.

  What foolery is this? To the devil with logic and reason!

  Bertie threw his quill across the desk. He loved the woman! From the first moment, she had enchanted his world. Everything in his life was different now because she was in it.

  How could he even think of letting her go? If she broke his heart, so be it. For now, he would take every glimpse of her that he could get—her magical eyes, her graceful form, her full, luscious lips. He was carried away by her entire being.

  He knew not where it would lead, but he was taking the road that led to full surrender. He would try with everything he possessed to make her his.

  Sighing, he took out a cigar and went through the ritual of lighting it.

  * * *

  At half past one, he drove his curricle to Westbury House. Lady Catherine awaited him in the red sitting room. The sight of her took his breath away, as usual. She was lovely in a yellow muslin with a perky straw bonnet.

  “Good afternoon, my lady.”

  “You are punctual, as usual.”

  “My greatest virtue, I am afraid.”

  “I can think of a few others,” she said with a brilliant smile. “Shall we be off?”

  In the curricle on the way to Bloomsbury, she told him that her father was busy in the conservatory, clucking at the deplorable state of its plants. He told her of the departure of his family for Oxfordshire.

  On this visit to the museum, he concentrated mainly on showing Lady Catherine the Egyptian antiquities that his brother-in-law, Lord Deveridge, had contributed before his death. Ian had been quite a student of the ancients and their religion, and it showed in his finds.

  “It is quite impossible for me to imagine that this civilization existed so long ago,” she said. “And it lasted for thousands of years.”

  “It was very sophisticated, actually. My favorite part is all the little things—the jewelry and the toys.”

  “You’re right. The statues make a huge statement, but the era really comes alive in the small details.”

  As they admired the bronze rings and bracelets, so different from their own in their simplicity, Lady Catherine looked up, and he met her eyes. For a moment, they merely stood there looking at each other. He felt as though she were trying to read him, as he was trying to read her. To his surprise, he saw a glimmer of hope in her gaze. What exactly was she hoping for?

  Upon leaving the museum, Bertie asked Lady Catherine if she would enjoy going to Gunter’s again.

  “Above all things!” she said, a smile lighting her face. “If you do not mind being featured in the gossip columns again.”

  “It is rather you who should mind. I’m surprised the gossips even know my identity.”

  At the confectioner’s, they were pleased to see Beau and Penelope.

  “It seems I cannot get enough of these ices,” said the latter. “Baby Wellingham likes sweets.”

  “Not to put a damper on this beautiful day, but is it safe for you to be out, Lady Catherine?” asked Beau.

  “I do not believe I am going to be attacked in broad daylight in the West End,” she said.

  “This is an anxious time for you, is it not?” Penelope asked Lady Catherine.

  “I will be glad when the man is caught. And I imagine Sir Bertie will be glad when he no longer feels he has to dance attendance on me,” said the lady.

  “To the contrary,” Bertie said with a straight face. “It is my great pleasure.”

  Lady Catherine’s cheeks became rosy. “You are too amiable,” she said.

  “Will you be going to the opera tonight for the opening of Don Giovanni?” Penelope asked Lady Catherine. “We would love to have you join us in our box.”

  The lady turned to Bertie. “Do you think it would be safe? I am not so confident about going out in the night.”

  “Only if I accompany you,” said Bertie.

  “I love the opera,” she said. “And I particularly love Mozart. Would you mind terribly?”

  “As I said, it is my pleasure,” said Bertie again.

  With their plans settled, the topic turned to Bertie’s family, their enjoyment of London, and their return to Oxfordshire.

  * * *

  Bertie blessed Penelope privately for suggesting the opera, providing another opportunity for him to be with Lady Catherine before his inevitable return home. He was concerned, however. The opera was bound to be a crush, and Lady Catherine’s predator was known to be a gentleman. In evening dress, he could fit easily into the crowd.

  Together with the Wellinghams, he called for Lady Catherine at half past eight. She was resplendent in gold silk. Though the threat of the attacker hung over her, she appeared radiant to him. Her warm eyes sparkled.

  “Your father didn’t wish to come?” he asked.

  “No. He is happy at home with his botanical journal. But I am looking forward to it most keenly.”

  The Opera House was the crush he expected. He tried to be aware of a threat coming from any direction and was glad that Beau was with them, keeping watch likewise.

  They followed t
he Wellinghams to their fashionably situated box. The heavy baroque gilt surroundings were a perfect foil for Lady Catherine’s beauty. Sitting next to her in the second row of the box, he was surprised when she slid her gloved hand into his. The action, covered by her skirts, was comfortably intimate. She gave him a slow smile that sped up his heart. He thought he knew the woman well enough not to take such an action as meaningless flirtation, but who ever really knew with women? Surely this was the sign of her affections he had been seeking?

  He scarcely listened to the opera; his thoughts were so full of the lady next to him. She sat very still, completely attuned to the music.

  As a rush of cooler air fell on his neck, Bertie felt rather than saw the curtain to the box being pushed aside. Turning around, he was just in time to see a pistol pointed at Lady Catherine’s head. He pushed her to the floor just as the man fired. Jumping up, Bertie rushed the shooter, landing him on his back in the corridor.

  Beau came to Bertie’s aid, wrenching the pistol out of the assailant’s hand. In a moment, he was subdued, and Bertie yanked down the handkerchief that covered his face below the eyes. He did not recognize the man. Though dressed in evening clothes, he was clearly not a gentleman. There was a shadow of a beard on his face, his hands were rough with dirty fingernails, and he reeked of gin.

  He and Beau managed to secure the attacker’s hands behind his back by knotting Bertie’s neckcloth around his wrists.

  Without their marking it, the opera had come to a halt. Patrons were coming out of their boxes with caution. Soon they began crowding their way to see the spectacle. He and Beau managed to pull the unsavory character into the box.

  “What the devil?” cried an onlooker.

  Beau took charge while Bertie saw to Lady Catherine. His beloved was white with shock. “I think I recognize him,” she said. “He is one of our stable hands at Fortuneswell in Dorset.”

  He could not keep himself from gathering the lady into his arms, even with all the people about. Her eyes were large, and she had begun to shake. He held her close to his chest and could feel her heart pounding against his.