by Regina Scott
“My father threatened yours so he could pursue my mother.” She shook her head. “And all this time I thought the Salsburys were to blame.”
He bristled. He couldn’t help it. “For what?”
Her eyes flew to his.
His voice sounded sharper than he intended. “What could we have possibly done to you that hasn’t been done ten times already to us at the Aster hand?”
She withdrew her hand. “Come now, we can’t believe only the words of one journal, one person, to give a complete account. The Salsbury and Aster dislike began generations before our fathers.” She stood.
He stood to join her. “But you can’t possibly think the Salsburys have treated the Asters wrongly, even knowing the great extortion . . .”
“I’ll think whatever I like. I’m surprised you would not even consider the possibility that Salsburys were to blame. No family is without fault.” She choked on her words. “Perhaps it is time we leave.” She walked in the direction of the exit.
Hurt she would doubt the word of his father in his own journal, he wanted to lash out as much as he wished she would stay. “Just like an Aster.”
She stopped, turning to face him again. “What?”
“Feeding anger, creating discord.” Perhaps there was more in her of her uncle than he had originally realized.
She began to walk away again and wiped at her eyes. “I’ll ask for a hack to be called.” She hurried from him.
His anger dissipated at the signs of her distress. He chased after, regretting his callousness. “No, wait. I’ll see you home.”
She didn’t look at him, just nodded.
Their ride home with the maid present was oppressively silent. Every time he looked at her, she was angled firmly from him, her eyes focused downward. He thought of her almost engagement to Channing, of his duty to court Lady Fenningway, and of all the discord between their families. A wave of hopelessness filled him. From their first moments, dancing, he discovered a fascination with Lady Catherine that had not lessened over time. He could not imagine happiness with any other, knowing how strongly and with so little provocation his heart hammered for her.
“Lady Catherine, please.”
She stiffened and then turned to him; the red-rimmed, hollow eyes struck him.
“It doesn’t have to be this way.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know how else it could be. It’s best to discover this unpleasantness now, before . . .” She didn’t finish.
Perhaps she meant before her heart was engaged. He knew his already had been. But perhaps hers wasn’t. They had hardly spent any time together.
And if he was talking sense, what did he know about her, really? She was an Aster. That enough gave him reason for distrust. He hadn’t admitted it to her, but the anger for her father lingered. What a snake. So much like her uncle. Her brother seemed more malleable, less intractable, but what did he know about them? And how could he consider opening up a closer association with that family? How could he do that to Penelope, knowing what danger she would be in if Asters were to learn of her existence? He saw no reason to believe her uncle would be any nobler than her father had been.
He shook his head at the irony. He sat in the same position with a difficult choice that his father had before him, except he had avoided the attachment of an almost engagement. He should be grateful for an early warning to dissuade him from further risk and hurt, even potential disaster.
But Lady Catherine’s stiff posture when she left his carriage tore at his insides.
Her last words, “Give my love to Penelope,” nearly broke his resolve to let her go.
Watching the door close behind her, he suspected if they ever saw each other again, it would be with pretended disinterest. And he prayed his heart could endure the pain that thought created inside him. He rapped on the roof. It was time he started moving forward with his own duty: Lady Fenningway, or if not her, someone he thought would be a good fit for his ducal estate.
Chapter Eight
Catherine’s uncle stood at the top of the stairs when she entered. He didn’t nod or greet her, just watched with his awful, narrowed eyes as she made her way past him down the hallway and entered her bedroom. She paced, uncomfortable with the hold her uncle had on them all. How could she live with her family name, knowing what she did? It was time to talk to her mother.
She exited through the servants’ panel and made her way down the narrow, drafty hallway to her mother’s room. She slid the panel aside to an angry uncle, bearing down on her mother.
“Leave her alone, Uncle.” She wanted this man gone from their lives.
They turned to her, a moment of shock on his face, great lines of pain on her mother’s. She said, “She deserves to know, Ethan.”
“So she can run and tell all the family secrets to her new lover?” He turned on her. “How could you spend time with them? Have you no sense of loyalty, of family honor?”
“I know of no reason not to spend time with the Salsburys. Unless you are addressing the fact that my own father blackmailed the former duke into staying silent in his pursuit of my mother?”
She regretted her harsh delivery as soon as she heard her mother’s gasp. “You know this?”
Catherine rushed to her mother, bearing her weight until she sat in the chair by the fire. “Yes, Mother, and you know it too, don’t you?”
She whispered her response. “I suspected.” She clung to Catherine. “Do you think me a coward?”
Confused, Catherine shook her head, “No, of course not, Mother.”
Then she turned to her uncle. His face disgusted her. “What is it I must know?”
“You don’t know what you ask. The burden is best borne by those of us who can bear it. Your job is to marry Channing and lead a happy life with a good family. Is that too much to ask?” For a moment, his eyes pleaded, and she saw the years of care he had given to the Aster name, saw that he believed himself to be doing the right thing by her and her family. But a crazed glimmer gave her pause, and she admitted to herself what years of suspicion and distrust had been trying to teach her. This uncle, Lord Aster, had his best interests in mind, truly disguised even to himself as watching over her family.
“Share your burdens, Uncle. It is my right to know. And my brother’s as well.”
He scoffed. “Your brother wouldn’t know how to sully his hands with this. You either. Your mother is barely holding on to her small part. You all sit here enjoying the spoils of the Aster fortune while moving forward on the shadows and work of our dirty hands.”
Her mother whimpered beside her, and she wrapped an arm over her shoulders. What could possibly be so dreadful? What dark secrets did the Aster family name keep? She waited. Her uncle stared her down.
He twitched.
Her mother was the one who at last spoke. “We live on blood money. We’ve preyed for years from the lives of the very Salsburys who we profess to hate.”
Catherine sucked in her breath, looking to her uncle.
He laughed, a mirthless sound. It sent gooseflesh up her arms and down her neck. “Blood money. No one has died. Don’t sound so maudlin.”
“No one has died?” Her mother’s face blanched. “Were you not the second? Did you not carry our lifeless Frederick back to us while the Salsbury father was returned to his home?”
“That was their idiotic manner in which to deal with the situation.” He turned to Catherine. “The truth, Catherine, is that the Salsburys and the Asters have competed for years over the same piece of land in Jamaica, a sugar plantation.”
“We own a plantation?”
That same laugh chilled her. “That’s the question, now, isn’t it? Who owns it? A bit of gambling gone wrong years ago between the late great Aster and the late great Salsbury. One says they won the bit of land; the other says they did not.”
“Can we not share it?” Incredulous, she could not believe such a heated hatred could last over something so simple.
“Not when
the Salsburys refuse the use of slaves.”
Horrified, she shuddered. “Slaves?”
“Yes, how does that feel, knowing your gowns were purchased with slave money?”
Of a truth, she wished to shed the very garment she wore. “And the fathers, they dueled? To the death?”
“Over a matter of sale. They at last agreed on a sale of the property, but Salsbury, he demanded we free the slaves. They came to blows, your mother was mentioned, and then a challenge was issued. They met at dawn like the idiots they both were.”
Her mother’s breaths shook with each intake.
“And we keep pestering and hurting and tormenting the Salsburys over this matter of slaves?” She couldn’t see anything at all amiss in the Salsbury behavior.
“Oh ho, their past is not the dove white you think it is. Is it?”
Her mother refused to look up.
Catherine stepped between them. “Whatever it is, I see no call for us to threaten Agatha the way Father did.”
Uncle at last looked shaken. Perhaps he had a bit of a heart after all. “I had no choice. Your father, he would stop at nothing to have your mother. It was the kindest solution.”
She fell back to her seat. Hearing of this side of her father hurt her more than she had admitted even to herself. “And now, must we continue to hurt them, to tear at their happiness? What of Penelope? Must we attack her now too? Let it go, Uncle. The plantation—”
Her uncle’s eyes turned calculating when she mentioned Penelope, and she immediately regretted her words.
He said, “If we give away the slaves, we lose everything. Your father”—he ran a hand over his mostly bald head—“he gambled away our fortune.”
“Then let it go.” She shook her head.
His face reddened further. “So naïve. The Salsburys are doing everything they can to destroy our estate.”
She turned away.
“Besides, it’s not your decision. And if it were, the Aster name would be in ruin.”
“As if it isn’t already?”
Her mother and uncle refused to look at her.
He turned from them. “There, Mildred. She knows.” He left the room, and a heavy chillness followed him. But in its place was a desolate hole, one she didn’t know how to fill. And the truth of what she realized with her Salsbury sunk deeper. No matter how kind his eyes, hope for them together had fizzled into nothing.
But perhaps she could help her brother negotiate a better agreement about this plantation; perhaps she could do something to protect Penelope. With that in mind, she hugged her mother, rocking, making plans in her mind for how to fix what she could and how to live with what she couldn’t fix. One thing for certain, she determined to make sure Penelope was out of reach of harmful speculation. They couldn’t ship her off somewhere. That was too lonely, too cruel. She closed her eyes. Perhaps instead of shunning her, they could do the opposite, throw her into society, accept and admire her in front of the ton. She considered her idea and prayed she would be brave enough that Salsbury would see what she was trying to do and forgive her.
Chapter Nine
Many of the top families, certainly all of the dukes still in London, attended one of the larger balls of the holidays together. Salsbury sat near Catherine, the sweet torture twisting her insides, happy fluttering competing with balls of dread. At one point in her life she would never have recognized the new duke of Salsbury but by family resemblance, and now that he was vital to her happiness but out of reach, he was everywhere.
She learned he had spent much of his time before his father’s death at school at Cambridge, and her parents had gone to great lengths to avoid his family when he was in town. Consequently, she hadn’t met him. They were polite enough now, but neither said more than was required. How could she approach him, knowing what her family had done to his, knowing how their fathers had behaved? The very knowledge of Aster behavior shamed her. She wouldn’t know how to bring it up or discuss it even if she thought it would help. She was embarrassed of her reaction to Salsbury’s earlier conversation, embarrassed she could not just apologize on behalf of her family. Did it matter what the Salsburys had done? What mattered to her was what her own father had done.
Her uncle and her mother both attended the party. Her brother was expected to arrive. It seemed a family reunion of sorts—all family members were in attendance as well as all the families of the dukes and earls who were in London during Christmastide. Surprisingly, many lingered in town this year. The yule log burned in the fireplace. They had played charades, sipped punch, and enjoyed readings of Shakespeare. Until that evening, she had nearly forgotten the holiday was upon them.
Everyone was talking about the upcoming Twelfth Night and Epiphany that a great friend of the prince regent, one Lord Timton Smithson, would host. All the dukes and their families and the royal dukes and their families were invited. A Duke’s Christmas, he was calling it. They were to come to Carlton House and celebrate with His Highness.
Dinner seemed desolate but quiet. Catherine avoided conversation even with Lord Channing, who sat at her side. Salsbury seemed to be doing the same with Lady Fenningway also seated at his side. Then a ruffling disturbance fluttered at one end of the room. Conversation stopped in a wave as it approached her. She craned her neck to see what was causing such a shift in attention. Then her heart went into her throat. She stood quickly, her chair tipping over behind her. Penelope wandered into the room, Catherine’s uncle not far behind. She played with the feathers on the ladies’ turbans as she passed. Whispers sounded in a great rush of rain as soon as she passed.
“Friend!” Penelope shouted when she saw Catherine. She ran to her. “Uncle said you would be here.”
Salsbury rushed to Penelope, his face tightened, his eyes stony. He wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulders. “Come, sweet. Let’s go see what Cook has in the kitchen.”
But Penelope stiffened. “No! I want to see my friend.”
Catherine hurried to her side. “I’m here. Hello, Penelope. Let’s find Cook like Salsbury said.”
“Salsbury? Who’s Salsbury?” She giggled.
“Stephen.” She corrected and savored the name on her lips. They started to move away, Salsbury’s calm and patient exterior belying the fast rhythm beating on his neck.
Uncle’s sneering voice called from behind them. “Behold the Salsbury sister.”
A few ladies sucked in their breath.
“Oh yes, he keeps her hidden away. Embarrassed, are you, Salsbury?”
Stephen stiffened beside her, but to his credit he kept a steady stream of conversation with Penelope.
Catherine whispered to Stephen, “I’m so sorry.” She showed his sister a bracelet. “Look, Penelope. So pretty.”
When Catherine caught his eye, Salsbury glared, furious. She shrunk, swallowing, and would have stepped away into the nearest hallway were it not for Penelope clinging to her arm.
They made their way out into the hall, and a carriage was called. Forward-thinking servants had it ready much more quickly than she thought possible. Catherine waited awkwardly, talking with Penelope until they moved to leave. “Can I help you into the carriage, my friend?” She grabbed hold of Penelope’s arm.
Salsbury barred her way, wrapping his arm across his sister’s shoulder. “You’ve done enough already. Leave. Us. Alone.” They entered with only a half-hearted calling out for “friend,” from Penelope to wrench in Catherine’s heart. And then the carriage departed.
Catherine could not face the guests for the rest of dinner. She called for her carriage as well, not caring what her uncle managed for his ride home. She didn’t know if she could face anyone ever again.
Any sliver of hope she harbored that perhaps she and the duke could overcome the difficulties between them shriveled up with his glare. He hated her. And, as guilt tore at her, she realized he had good reason. She had behaved as every other Aster had to his family by carelessly sharing the name and existence of a sister, se
tting Penelope up for mockery and disdain to the very man who would deliver such cruelty. Salsbury was rightfully furious.
* * *
The more she thought on the evening, the more agitated she became. Pacing in her room, Catherine could scream at the audacity of her uncle. She would pen a letter to her brother straightaway, right after she sent off this one to Stephen. Was Gregory not the duke? Could they not cast Lord Aster from their immediate lives, ask him to go stay at another Aster holding?
Her uncle’s words about their financial state concerned her. Could they be out of money? Had her father and his before him lost everything? She couldn’t believe it. And she suspected her uncle preyed on her perceived naïveté and lied to her.
She would speak to the steward right after she paid a visit to Penelope Salsbury.
She had many things to coordinate before Twelfth Night at Carlton House. But she was determined to make one thing right, if that’s all she ever did as an Aster.
Chapter Ten
Stephen had never felt more betrayed. He watched as Penelope drew pictures. She was surprisingly adept with her charcoals, and the activity calmed her when she might otherwise be excitable.
Asters were of the devil. He should have listened to his mother and the decades of Salsburys behind him. After grilling the staff, he learned that, although no one knew for certain, apparently while Penelope was outside in her gardens, Lord Aster lured her away with the promise he would take her to Lady Catherine. What a wretched trick.
He watched his sister, but Penelope did not seem worse for having visited a ball. In fact, she quite enjoyed it and was drawing a girl in a pretty gown right now.