“God certainly has an unpredictable sense of humor. And at your expense.”
“Stop.” He tasted her lips again, silencing her argument. If he kept using that particular technique to end arguments, she’d plan to argue more often.
“Can’t you see, you’re not the person you used to be…and yet you are? The best parts of who you are, the passion, the diligence, the ability to take charge and see the right done – those have all remained and become more mesmerizing when molded by grace.”
“You really see those things in me?”
“Of course I do, and so much more. You’re the perfect complement to my awkward, bookish, driven personality.” His gaze roamed her face, as if…as if he treasured all he saw. “My dear Catherine, could you reach beyond your shame and see what I see? What God sees?”
“What do you see?” Her voice squeezed out the question.
“Beauty.” His fingers reached into the folds of her hair, sending a fresh wave of tingles down her neck. “Layers and layers of beauty.”
She sighed out her resignation and wrapped her arms around him, embracing his confidence. “You shouldn’t want a future with me. And I should love you enough to push you away.”
“No.” His gaze met hers, unswerving. “You should trust me enough to believe I’ve considered all of your arguments and don’t care a whit for them.”
He sealed his words with another kiss…or two.
Catherine remained fairly useless for at least two hours after her rendezvous with David in the medical supplies room. Even the massive disaster of trying to clean up after the fire or the impossibility of locating her sister among the many workers failed to dampen her daydream.
“I understand you are quite fond of Christmas.”
She looked up from her suture and grappled with her smile. “It’s my favorite holiday.”
He nodded, emerald eyes twinkling with leprechaun mischief. “And why is that?”
She stood from her position and turned to face him. “I do enjoy celebrating the Savior’s birth.”
“Of course.”
She tipped a brow. “In addition, I’m fairly intoxicated by the scent of peppermint.”
His gaze darkened, and he took a step forward, but then seemed to remember he was in the middle of a room filled with patients and stopped. His smile spread to showcase his dimple. “Ridiculously intoxicated?”
“Most certainly.”
“Catherine.”
Catherine reluctantly turned from her handsome knight to her sister. “Yes?”
“Do you have a few moments so we could talk?”
“Of course.” Catherine followed Ashleigh, but not before casting a glance back to David who did nothing to hide his interest in watching her walk away.
She must have worn the most idiotic smile in all of Ednesbury.
“How is Sam?”
Ashleigh’s smile turned mischievous. “See for yourself.” She gestured toward the West Wing where Sam and Michael constructed a door to close off the side until repairs could be made. Sam looked up as if he knew they were speaking of him, and the grin he sent to Ashleigh nearly melted Catherine on the spot. So sweet. Such a dear friendship and romance between them.
“He’s here?”
Ashleigh shrugged and held out her hand. “It wouldn’t do to leave one’s husband behind.”
“You’re married?” Catherine grabbed Ashleigh’s hand and examined the beautiful ruby on her finger. “When?”
Ashleigh resumed her walk to the stairway. “About two weeks before Grandmama’s death. I knew it was something she’d love to witness, so we wheeled her out to the garden and had the ceremony there.” Ashleigh led the way back to her bedroom, probably the only space for privacy in this overcrowded house. “I’m sorry we didn’t wait until you could attend.”
“No, please. I understand.”
Ashleigh smiled and opened her door so Catherine could enter first. “I’m glad you do, and…and…” She sighed the sweet sigh of contentment. “I love being his wife.”
With the residual warmth of David’s kiss still humming over her skin, she could certainly imagine the benefits of belonging to the man you loved.
They took their seats in two high back chairs facing the tall windows and their late afternoon light. Some papers waited on the table between them.
“So, your wedding was one of the miracles you spoke of yesterday?”
“One.” Ashleigh took the papers from the table. “But I have more. Miracles that are going to change everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Grandmama had two wills drawn up years ago.” Ashleigh pointed to each stack of papers as she spoke. “But had rewritten them within the last three months. One will related to her assets in America and another for her properties in England. Sam and I met with Mr. Graves, her English solicitor, before coming to Ednesbury.”
“What of the American one? Who will take care of her home in Millington?”
“Grandmama thought of everything.” Ashley offered a sad smile. “Knowing his dislike for England, she left the Millington House to Scott.”
“Of course she did.” Catherine laughed, imagining their brother’s response to the gift.
“But Sam’s father is to be the guardian of the inheritance, as well as of Scott, until our little brother comes of age.”
“Abram Miller is a king among men.”
A pleased blush colored Ashleigh’s cheeks. “Yes, he is. One of the dearest. I know Scott is in good hands.”
“And Roth? She must have left it to you.”
Ashleigh nodded. “Yes, as well as a small yearly allowance.”
Catherine’s brow tilted. “Small?”
She shrugged. “Large enough to cover costs. Small enough to keep me from overspending.”
“I wish I could have seen her once more.” Her vision blurred. “If only long enough to apologize in person. I never took the time to appreciate her, to show her how much I cared.”
Ashleigh grabbed Catherine’s hand. “She talked of you, all the way to the end.” Her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “She was proud of you, Catherine. Proud of the woman God was making you. Proud of how you desired to place as much passion into serving others as you had in serving yourself.”
Catherine’s tears escaped their hold. “I feel as though I left her little for which to be proud.”
Ashley’s eyes brightened with her smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Grandmama always had a way of seeing greater things in people than they saw in themselves. She told me once, near the end, when we were talking about you, that you reminded her the most of her young self than anyone else in the family.”
“Me?” Catherine shook her head. “She must’ve been confusing me with you.”
“She was lucid until the day she died. She knew of whom she spoke.” Her sister’s smile grew impish again. “And she knew exactly what you needed.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love being the one to share Grandmama’s gift to you. It’s almost as if I can feel her smiling down on us.” Ashleigh’s face almost glowed. “After all we’ve been through.” She laughed. “Catherine, Grandmama knew you loved town. She knew you loved fashion and the social world.”
Ashleigh placed one of the papers in Catherine’s hands along with a set of large iron keys. “She left you Beacon House.”
“Beacon House?” A faded memory of the house flickered through Catherine’s mind, one of brick walls and manicured gardens. “The…the small estate near town?”
“It’s only five miles from town, unlike Roth which is fifteen. It will put you nearer the train station and the dress shop.”
Catherine tried to take in the information. A house? She owned a house? “How…how will I keep it?”
“Grandmama thought of that too.” Ashleigh placed another paper in her hands. “You’ll receive this monthly allowance, along with wages for five servants.”
Catherine blinked down at the n
umber in disbelief. It was more money than she’d imagined having in an entire year, let alone each month. “How could she afford this? She barely had enough money to maintain Roth Hall and her home in Millington.”
“That’s the miraculous part.” Ashleigh tapped another paper in front of them. “It appears that all of these additional monies were secured in an account tied to Uncle William, but at his death, the funds went to Grandmama, who created a protected account when she realized mother and father were incapable of managing money well. It was a safeguard for her grandchildren and the future of the estates, only to be released at her death. The money has continued to accrue up through last year, when it suddenly stopped and no one gave any reason as to why.”
“Not the solicitors?”
Ashleigh shook her head. “No one. They were very tight-lipped about the entire affair, so I supposed it had something to do with Uncle William.”
Catherine stared at Ashleigh, then back at the papers, trying to make sense of it all. “But Uncle William was a missionary. How did he possibly obtain money like this?”
“I don’t know. All Grandmama told me was that a private benefactor had provided for William, should he ever choose to return from the mission field to a normal life, to keep him well situated for as long as he lived.”
Who could spare such money? A church patron, or someone with a great deal of devotion to William’s missionary work?
“How could she—or God—give me these things? I…I don’t deserve them.”
“As I told you before, sister dear.” Ashleigh smiled through her tears. “Love. Love works miracles and overwhelms as nothing else can.” She squeezed Catherine’s hand. “God knows that now you’ll use this for His purposes, not your own advantage. Just imagine what you could do with these resources that you wouldn’t have done before. The opportunities to change lives, to make a difference.” She laughed. “With your energy, you could transform the entire town if you wanted.”
“The town?” Catherine stilled, her gaze locking with her sister’s. “Yes. Imagine.” She pushed up from the chair and started a slow progression of pacing about the room. “All the possibilities.”
“Catherine?”
Catherine kept walking, her mind a whirl of possibilities. Almost giddy. “Beacon House must be sizeable, yes?”
“I…I think Grandmama mentioned it had sixteen rooms.”
“Sixteen?” Catherine looked up to the ceiling, both hands in the air. “Sixteen rooms. And probably a large hall, perhaps a ballroom,” she muttered to herself. “But I’d need to see it to be sure.”
“What are you thinking?”
Catherine pivoted on her heels and let a victorious smile creep into place. “Opportunities, my dear sister. I have one request. Would you keep my part of this inheritance a secret for now?”
“Why?”
“Lady Cavanaugh already thinks she has the better hand, so if she feels further threatened, I’m afraid she’ll grow increasingly more desperate to hurt this hospital or the orphanage, let alone our family. Besides, I think anonymity will be a valuable ally for us when dealing with the Cavanaughs.”
Ashleigh crossed her arms and raised a brow. “What are you planning?”
“A marvelous surprise.” She rubbed her palms together. “A surprise I’m certain will ruffle Maureen Cavanaugh’s crow feathers.”
Catherine hardly recognized Marianne. Clothes truly transformed. Marianne stood behind the shop counter, assisting a customer, her golden locks pinned back in a stylish array and showing off her long neckline which was enhanced by the pale pink walking suit she wore.
A suit Catherine had designed.
Catherine bit her bottom lip in an attempt to quell the excited squeal waiting to erupt from her soul. Her design. In fact, as Catherine glanced around the shop, she noticed Madame had even created a sign sectioning off one part of the room to Everill Designs.
As Marianne looked up and noticed Catherine, her smile bloomed, and Catherine was struck by how beautiful she’d grown under the tutelage of Madame in such a short time.
“Miss Dougall.” Marianne almost ran around the counter to take Catherine in her arms. “I am so delighted to see you. When Annie told me I’d missed your last visit, I was terribly disappointed. Do you see? Do you see how well your des—” She stopped and covered her mouth, glancing about the empty shop. She proceeded on a whisper. “Your designs are selling so well. We had an order for four just this morning from London.”
“That’s wonderful news, Marianne.” Catherine matched the girl’s whisper. “But why are you whispering?”
Her bright blue eyes grew wide with sincerity. “Madame says we must be very careful to keep your name separate from Catherine Everill to protect your sales from the ill-effects of Lady Cavanaugh. Madame’s exact words were “For now, Catherine Everill must remain a mystery. An anonymous benefactress to the world of fashion.”
“An anonymous benefactress of fashion, is it?” Catherine laughed. “If nothing else, Madame provides drama.”
Marianne’s golden brows wiggled. “Heaps of drama. It does keep life fairly exciting.”
“Without a doubt.” Catherine stepped over to the mannequin who wore Catherine’s sleeveless ensemble of midnight, layered and falling to the toe. Its princess waist, new to many of the most recent designs, was completed in silver, the perfect complement to the midnight color. They’d chosen the best material, silk duvetyn, shimmering with colors of starlight. “It’s even more beautiful in reality. The colors, the style, are exactly as I imagined.”
“It has drawn many curious shoppers off the street, as well as the one beside it.” Marianne nodded to the walking suit similar to hers, except in fawn. Madame had draped a scarf of dark tones over the shoulder, bringing out the complimentary colors. “You give such excellent instructions for material and options. For example, one can add a tunic to the gown here.” She touched another of Catherine’s designs, an evening gown in periwinkle. “And it changes the entire look of the gown.”
The inexplicable pleasure of a dream come true lodged a reply in Catherine’s throat. How she longed to tell David, share her success, but something kept her waiting. If this secret placed him at enmity with his aunt, it might be a better choice he remain ignorant.
The sudden jarring of the door nearly knocked the entry bell from its roost. Madame marched in, her French exploding at an impossible speed. Something about ridiculous women and buttons for brains?
“Madame? Are you well?”
“Well? Well?” Her volume grew with each repetition. “Non, I am furious. The idiot Inn refuses to hold the ball, even after we had secured it.”
“What?”
Her words trailed off in another fit of French, then she turned to both of them, her scowl almost tangible. “I received notice that the Inn cancelled our reservations for the ball, so I made my way to them to speak my mind about such horrible behavior. They told me they would not support a man of low repute, even if he was a good doctor.”
“A man of low repute? How did they—”
“The Lady.” She said the words like a curse. “She has wounded yet another plan, another good deed. Passing around the news of your situation.”
She waved toward Catherine’s stomach.
“But that shouldn’t impact the Inn’s decision.”
“It should if she had Mr. Dandy created the rumor that Dr. Ross is the father.”
Catherine braced herself against the counter. “What?”
“He resurrected Alexander Ross’ disgrace to the family by marrying beneath his station and tainting the family with bad blood, thus proving his son to be tainted as well and participating in less than desirable behavior with”—she gestured to Catherine—“yourself.”
Catherine’s face grew so hot, tears welled in her eyes. “Crow Cavanaugh and her disciple Dandy dragged David’s father into this?” Catherine slammed her fist against counter. “What a deplorable lie!”
“Annie says Lady
Cavanaugh could make any God-fearing woman lose her Christianity,” Marianne added, her sweet voice barely making a dent in Catherine’s fury.
“What can we do to such power? How can we possibly fight this?” A sudden fear tickled through her middle, her worst fears ignited. What would David think? Her reputation had brought ruin to him? Pain to his dear father? No. She offered a silent plea. Please, no.
“The bazaar can go on, but there is no knowing who will come. The timid will stay away.” Madame flipped her wrist in the air in her customary way. “If only more people owned their own shops, then her influence could not be as strong.”
“And the only way to do that is buy the shops from her.” Catherine sighed. “Is there any way to salvage the ball? It would have drawn the most people. Perhaps it would set this ruthless rumor to rest if people saw David as he is, recognizing his kindness and generosity?”
“Unless we have another benefactor or benefactress who could produce a sizeable space for a ball and not be intimidated by the Cavanaughs, I do not know what we shall do.”
Catherine placed her head in her hands, praying for help and a heavy hand to quench her desire to go flail Lady Cavanaugh with a strong chord of cheviot fabric. Leaving the sheep smell on Lady Cavanaugh’s clothes would be an additional benefit.
“Do you know of any benevolent rich in the area? Any homes with ballro—” Catherine paused, and looked up. Marianne’s words filtered through her haze of red. Anonymous benefactress? She turned, breath pulsing as quickly as her heartbeat. “Madame, I…I believe I have a place we can use.” She began a round of pacing in front of the shop counter. “I’ve not been in it for years and have no idea if we can prepare it in time.”
“A place? Large enough for a ball?” Madame blinked her long black lashes. “Roth Hall will not do in its present state, non non.”
“Not Roth.” Catherine’s smile stretched to ridiculous proportions as the idea formed. “I have a different home in mind. One I’ve only just obtained for my inheritance.”
The Thorn Keeper Page 22