by Regina Scott
“Thank you, Moorsby.”
Soon she was bundled in woolens, and the air had less of an edge. She rushed out the door, a maid in tow. She wandered the paths and circled the area between their homes until her cheeks were a bright cherry red from the cold. And no Salsbury. How strange to spend the entirety of one’s life actively avoiding a family to then, after the course of one evening, seek them out.
No, she couldn’t be seeking them out. How could she betray her mother, her own deceased father, knowing Salsburys had been the cause of his death? And yet her heart betrayed her, betrayed them all, with this new beating rhythm spurred on by Salsbury’s memory, by the thoughts of dancing in his arms. She shivered, and not from the cold.
She was about to turn back, to return to a morning of callers and tedium, when laughter carried over from a small copse of trees. A girl perhaps a few years younger than Catherine jumped out from behind a tree. “Here I am!” Then she turned and ran to the next tree and hid behind it. Catherine smiled, the girl’s laughter contagious. Catherine stepped closer, her new intrigue making her forget the cold. Then she stopped just outside the thickest area of trees because the door to the Salsbury townhome slammed shut and Salsbury himself ran out, pulling on his jacket as he came. “Penelope!”
The girl giggled and fell back behind the nearest tree. She held a finger to her mouth. “Shhhhh.”
More intrigued than ever, Catherine stepped out of the trees so Salsbury could see her and waved him over. Her heart pounded at the sight of him approaching. She feared and welcomed his reaction to her.
His eyes widened, but he lengthened his stride in her direction. As he approached, the girl, Penelope, jumped out again, “Here I am!”
“Oh!” Salsbury hid behind the tree to his right, then jumped out as she had, “I see you!” He moved back behind it, peering out at her from the other side.
The girl erupted in a chorus of giggles.
And Catherine found the whole situation charming.
He jumped out again, sending Penelope squealing and running behind the next tree.
Catherine laughed before she could stop herself.
Penelope suddenly looked nervous. She looked to find Salsbury—but he was still behind a tree—then back to Catherine, who smiled the warmest expression she could muster with stiff and cold lips. “Hello.”
Penelope twisted her hands together and started rocking from foot to foot.
“No, it’s all right. I’m a friend.” She stepped closer, wanting nothing more than to hug away this girl’s worries.
She peeked up at Catherine and stilled her rocking. “Friend?”
Catherine nodded. “Yes. Friend.”
She seemed so much younger than she appeared. Catherine wondered if something wasn’t totally right in her head. But she felt drawn to her, drawn to her laughter and her delight in something so simple.
Salsbury jumped out from behind his tree, startling Catherine and making the girl jump up and down. “You caught me!”
She ran to him. “Look! Friend.” She pointed back at Catherine who smiled. “Yes, friend.” She nodded and waved at her.
Full of curiosity, Catherine waited. Her heart warmed to see the silly smile and hug Salsbury gave the girl. But when he turned to face Catherine, his stern face made her take a step back.
He nodded at her and put his arm around the girl’s shoulders. “Come, Penelope, it’s time to get back inside.”
“Wait! Friend!” She pointed at Catherine.
Unsure what to do, Catherine walked toward them. “It’s awfully cold. I think we should all get inside. Before you go, I’d love to meet you, though.” She approached slowly, more for Salsbury’s benefit than Penelope’s. He seemed skittish, like he was about to bolt. And his protective stance, partially shielding the girl gave Catherine the message: I don’t trust you.
But she felt drawn to this girl. And she couldn’t control her yearning for Salsbury. An hour wandering about the park was proof of that. Something about the situation felt important. Her feet crunched through leaves as she moved closer. Then flakes began to fall all around her. She held up her hands, a huge smile on her face. “Oh look! Snow.” She caught one on her glove and held it up. “Look, see how pretty?” She held it out.
The girl looked up at Salsbury, who had not taken his eyes off Catherine. Something in them softened, and he nodded.
Penelope approached and peered over the top of Catherine’s outstretched hand to examine the melting white prism. “Oh!” Penelope held up her own hand to catch one but did not have the patience for a flake to land. She waved her gloves around as if to scoop up the flakes all at once. Catherine reached out and placed a hand on her arm. “Wait. Be still.”
Penelope widened her eyes and nodded. They both watched with wonder as a flake swirled through the air and landed on the back of Penelope’s glove. She breathed in her excitement and held her glove still while whispering to Salsbury. “Look! Stephen, look.”
His face now gentle, his eyes kind, he smiled at Catherine, and she warmed down to her toes.
“Look! You’ve caught another!” Penelope pointed to her glove. Catherine looked away and compared flakes with Penelope. Every time she returned her gaze to Salsbury’s, he was watching her with a delicious intensity, and she wanted nothing more than to sit for hours basking in his interest. Their new flakes melted, so they reached for the heavens to catch another.
“I’ve got one!” Salsbury surprised her again. “And it is by far the prettiest.”
“What, no. Mine’s the prettiest.” Penelope stepped closer to him, and they compared the two until they melted.
When the flakes fell faster and the wind picked up, Catherine’s maid cleared her throat. Catherine knew she must get back. She curtsied to Penelope and Salsbury and said, “It was my pleasure spending time with you. I’m Lady Catherine Aster.”
Salsbury nodded. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, officially.” The corner of his lip twitched as if he might smile again. He turned to the girl at his side, then studied Catherine’s face for a moment. She held her breath, feeling as though something large weighed in the balance. He stepped closer, asking her to do the same. His voice was low, and its secretive rumble rolled through her in a thrilling wave. Then he said, “And this is Penelope. My sister.”
Catherine puffed out her breath. Sister. No one told her the Salsburys had a sister. She stepped forward and held the girl’s hand in her own. “I’m so pleased to meet you.”
She nodded. “Me too. You are a friend.”
Catherine thought her smile might break her face, so sweet and special it felt to be accepted by such a person. She nodded. “Yes. We are friends.” She curtsied again and then turned to leave.
“We come here in the mornings. Sometimes.” Salsbury’s voice held hope, a catch at the end that melted Catherine’s heart.
“Then so do I.” She smiled at Penelope. “I’ll see you soon.”
The girl jumped up and clapped, and Catherine laughed with her. Her eyes met Salsbury’s, and the intensity held her captive. Then he nodded, and she hurried after her maid, warmed from her toes to the top of her head. She loosened her scarf and tried to control her breathing. “That was wonderful!”
“Yes, my lady.” Hannah’s voice sounded less than enthused, but a small smile lifted the corner of her lip, and Catherine knew she was secretly pleased. Catherine didn’t care if she wasn’t. This maid was loyal to her over her uncle.
Catherine had never spent a more delightful morning. And Salsbury had invited her back. She squealed and skipped her next step. Already she counted the moments until she could see him again. She couldn’t tell if her heart pounded with the risk and secrecy of the meeting, knowing her uncle would strictly forbid her, if she was this affected by his shattering good looks, or if she was charmed by his sister. No matter the reason, no matter the risk, tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.
Chapter Four
Stephen lifted his chin while the valet t
ied his cravat. They would be attending the opera with Lady Fenningway and her mother. He ground his teeth and lowered his chin without thinking. The cravat immediately squeezed against his throat. He corrected.
Sleep had evaded him all through the night. So many conflicting emotions had paraded about in his mind, he didn’t know which to grasp and which to discard. He shook his head, and his valet paused, eyes opened in question. When Stephen didn’t say anything, he continued.
He didn’t want anything to do with Lady Fenningway. He wanted Lady Catherine.
But they could never entertain even the barest slip of hope to be together. His family was so hurt by hers, her relations so ruthless and cunning. He couldn’t even be sure her presence in his life was not part of some scheme to bring further pain and suffering to his family. But his rebellious heart cared nothing for all the reasons an alliance with her would be impossible, and his ardent attraction filled him to the point he could think of nothing else. He had never found a creature more fascinating, more captivating of all his senses than he found her.
Yet tonight he would accompany the extraordinarily not captivating Lady Fenningway to the opera.
He met his mother on their front stoop. He lifted her hand, aiding her into the carriage. She sniffed. He was still not forgiven for dancing with an Aster. Though he tried to explain she had pointed her out.
After only but a moment of blessed silence, his mother began. “Remember we are to make up for that awful debacle you created at last week’s ball.”
“Mother, I hardly think we need to continue to make up for it. I feel our early morning call and this lovely evening at the opera will put us on the firm footing where we need to be.”
Another sniff made him inwardly wince. “You obviously have not grasped the gravity of what you have done. Not just to Lady Fenningway by snubbing her but by doing such a hurtful thing in such a scandalous manner.”
“I thought we had talked through this. Dancing with another member of the peerage is hardly scandalous.” He refused to be pulled into the bitter grudge his mother insisted on carrying. His heart softened when he saw her lips quiver. It was her husband, after all, who had died. Not a day went by that Stephen didn’t miss him. But he died precisely because he gripped, white-knuckled, to an age-old grudge against the Aster family. If they would all let it fall away like a thin piece of silk in the wind, the younger generations, like himself, could move on in the world.
He knew words to that effect were useless with his mother. “I hope to enjoy the opera,” he said. “Perhaps Lady Fenningway shares my affinity?”
His mother looked away. “Perhaps.”
“I do hope to enjoy my wife, find things in common. I would not seek solely a marriage of convenience. There has to be some semblance of potential there, Mother.”
She stared out the window, sighed, and then turned to face him. “I am listening, son, but the practicalities of life do not always lend themselves to the fancies of youth. Sometimes we just do our duty.”
He cringed. His duty. Memories of his father’s kind eyes, his determination, his work to build their estate, to influence the House of Lords. The man spent a lifetime dedicated to England and to his estate and family. A Fenningway alliance had seemed so important to him before he passed. And until Stephen met Lady Catherine Aster, he had planned to carry forward all his father’s dying wishes and to push forward his causes. Though he had not felt overly enamored with the idea, he could not dishonor the memory of his father by ignoring such a strong wish.
He began to talk himself into the idea once again so much so that by the time the Fenningways joined them in the carriage, he was able to talk pleasantly and even flirt with her a small amount.
She responded with dropped eyes and the barest smile, but perhaps she was shy and would soon overcome those tendencies when she knew him better.
His mother carried most of the conversation after a few more attempts on his part to draw out Lady Fenningway. He sat back, somewhat relieved to let the women discuss their own pleasantries.
Only when they arrived at the front of the building did his heart rattle inside him with the expectation that perhaps Lady Catherine would be present. And if she were, how would they react to each other in a public setting? Did they continue to act as though they had never been introduced? Surely he must acknowledge her. Of a truth, he desired to engage her in conversation, encourage the sparkle to lighten her eyes. But he knew such a thing as congenial conversation would cause a disruption similar to what their dance had.
He grimaced, thinking of it. They entered the front doors of the newly rebuilt Covent Garden, and he already searched the crowd for Lady Catherine. The small hand on his forearm weighed nothing at all. Lady Fenningway must work to touch him as little as possible with her gloved hand. He led her up the stairs. “I’m so looking forward to this evening. Thank you for accompanying me.”
Her lips curled in a small smile. “I as well, thank you.”
And that was to be their conversation. Would she initiate any? “Do you have an opera you most like? What are some that you have seen?”
“Oh, well . . .”
Her mother answered. “She saw Messrs. Last year. That was quite good, was it not?”
“I did enjoy it, yes.” And then silence followed. So discussing the opera would not be their lot, but nothing could prevent him from enjoying a good opera even if no one would converse about the performance.
They made their way to his box. Candles lit the darkened hallways surrounding the box entrances. He held the curtain back for them all to enter, his mother first, then hers, and then as Lady Fenningway turned to enter, Lady Catherine came around the corner outside their boxes.
She faltered on the arm of Lord Channing. Jealousy scratched at his insides. They walked toward him, Channing totally unaware that her eyes had grown wide and a small smile lit her face.
His mother called from inside.
His eyes held Lady Catherine’s a moment longer, and then he let the curtain fall back behind him. He had never experienced anything like the pull he felt to be with her. The curtain between them may as well have been thin translucent silk for the waves of enticement. He yearned to succumb. But he could not. The fabric was a sheet of rock for all the opportunity they would ever have. But, he smiled to himself, there was always tomorrow morning in the park.
As soon as intermission began, he rushed Lady Fenningway out of their box and into the hallway, turning in the direction Lady Catherine had gone with Channing. He clenched his fist. Channing. He was a good sort of chap, the kind that might make a decent match for her. He rounded a corner, Lady Fenningway’s small legs hurrying to keep up, her small, short breaths becoming more obvious at his side. He turned to her to make some small apology, and then ran right into a soft lavender dress, a lady’s feathers tickling his nose. “Pardon me.” Lady Catherine’s brilliant eyes smiled up at him. His heart thrilled with excitement. He reached to steady her. And his hands lingered, wanting nothing more than to whisk her away in private somewhere. She gripped his arms longer than necessary. Everywhere she touched tingled with awareness.
Channing approached, and his eyes widened in concern as he looked from one to the other.
Her face turned up to Stephen, a faint pink to her cheeks. “How clumsy of me.”
“No, it was I, certainly. I was in a bit of a hurry.”
“As was I.”
Channing wiped his brow. “You most certainly were. I couldn’t keep up. The moment the intermission began, she was out in the hall.” His eyebrow rose, again eyeing the two of them.
“I’m thirsty.” She shrugged.
Stephen turned. “This is Lady Fenningway.”
She curtsied. Channing introduced Lady Catherine, and they all continued together to the lemonade. Stephen’s arm brushed Lady Catherine’s as the crowds pushed them closer together. He let his hand linger, and his fingers lingered over hers. She stared ahead, but the next time their hands brushed, she ran
a few fingers across his palm.
Energy surged up his arm, his breath coming faster.
They approached the lemonade, and Lord Aster, her uncle, joined them. Lady Catherine stiffened beside him. Stephen turned to the detestable Lord Aster and nodded. “Aster.”
He nodded in return, a barely perceptible lowering of his chin.
Lady Catherine looked from one to the other, fear in her eyes. Stephen couldn’t understand that fear. Lord Aster raised his lemonade. “I hear congratulations are in order, and I applaud myself for standing here among all the happy couples.”
Lady Catherine’s face drained of all color. Stephen almost reached for her to catch a swoon, but Channing beat him to it. His arm wrapped around her waist, and the look of tenderness on his face disturbed Stephen in such a way that he considered shoving the man aside to stand in his place.
Lord Aster continued to talk, and Stephen paid closer attention. “And so I am pleased to announce the engagement of my niece, Lady Catherine Aster, to Lord Channing, son of the Duke of Halcor.”
“What? Uncle, no.” Lady Catherine would not meet Stephen’s eyes. “We have not come to an agreement . . .” She allowed her voice to trail off as she looked at all the people around them.
Then Lord Aster raised his glass in Stephen’s direction. “And this might be only slightly more premature than my first announcement. I hear congratulations will soon be in order for the two of you as well.”
Stephen stood taller. “You forget yourself, Aster.”
“Not any more than any Salsburys have in the past.”
“Uncle.” Lady Catherine’s face was stricken. Stephen wondered at the intense emotions tightening up around her eyes.
“Aster. You have made the ladies uncomfortable and clearly overstepped. No such agreements have been made, at least in our case.” He searched Lady Catherine’s face, hoping she might declare the same. But she just shrugged and stared at the floor.
Lord Aster’s laugh chilled the area around Stephen. “Glad I could be the bearer of such welcome news.” He downed his lemonade. “I believe they are calling us in after intermission.”