‘Happy ones?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘There wasn’t a family in England that didn’t lose a loved one at some time or other during the wars. Whatever the truth of the matter, your father should have informed you about James.’
‘Blanche has tried forcing him to accept James as his—but he knows the truth and he is determined to cast them both out without a penny. I’ve never been close to my father—in fact, there have been times when what I felt has been as close to hate as it could possibly be. But what Blanche has done to him is cruel. She should be exposed for what she has done.’
‘And who do you think will benefit from that? Think what it will mean. Your father will suffer the shame of his wife’s adultery with his son-in-law. The story will become common gossip. For his sake and your own—not forgetting the child whom it will affect most of all in the future—you must say nothing.’
She stared at him, uncomprehending. ‘My sake?’
‘Thomas was your husband. It was bad enough that he had an affair with your stepmother, but there is a child as a result of their union and he must be taken into consideration.’
She cast him a mutinous look. ‘They should be punished for what they have done.’
‘It’s not as if you can punish Thomas. As for Blanche...’
‘What she has done to me and my father is wicked.’
‘Nothing in life is quite so simple—or fair,’ John said gently, tucking a rebellious lock of her hair behind her ear. ‘Thomas was a man like any other and every man suffers from periodic moments of desire when they are with a beautiful woman.’
‘Even you?’
‘Even me—which is what happened between us. We are all human, Catherine.
‘I think I hate Thomas.’
‘But Edward is your father. His health must be taken into consideration. For his sake you must harness your emotions and remain strong.’
‘My plans were to go directly to Wilsden, but my father has asked me to remain at Oakdene until such a time as he dies.’
‘Then that is what you must do. Afterwards, when he is deceased, you can decide what to do about Blanche—although he must set it down in his will. He must send for his lawyer if he wishes to make any changes. It will be complicated, whatever is decided. But try not to be too hard on Blanche. It has not been easy for her either—far from it, in fact. And she cares for James deeply. She is a loving mother and very protective of him,’
Catherine continued to look at John for a long moment. Only gradually did she come to accept that bringing the incident out into the open would subject her father to unnecessary pain while resolving nothing.
‘Will you walk with me?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘No. I’m poor company just now. So much has happened that I have much to think about. I think I should return to my father.’
John stepped back. ‘As you wish. Tomorrow I have arranged to see Thomas’s lawyer. We’ll set off at about ten o’clock and ride into the city.’
‘Yes. I’ll be ready.’
* * *
Choked by a terrible miasma of loneliness and deprivation—feelings she recognised having grown up with them—Catherine shut herself in her chamber, hoping that no one would intrude. When she had come to Oakdene, she had been buoyed up with expectancy, but now, in the light of what she had discovered in the last twenty-four hours, her future was bleak, as were her prospects. With her mind on the child and how painful his presence at Oakdene must be for her father, she became unnaturally calm, as calm as a block of ice that has no warmth.
* * *
Later, having eaten her evening meal with her father in his room, she retired to her chamber, intending to go to bed. Looking out of the window and seeing it had started to snow, she perched on the window seat and watched it fall against the darkness of the night. Her thoughts turned to John. She tried to think of him dispassionately, not to let her emotions become involved, because if she did she was in danger of being overwhelmed by him. He had a way of intruding into her thoughts when her desire was to keep him out.
He was different to any man she had ever met and he had made a deep impression on her. Never had she met a man who was so alive, so full of confidence, a man who both stimulated and excited her. He had a sensuous way of regarding her that made her physically aware of herself as a woman.
With these thoughts occupying her mind, she breathed deeply and let her eyes follow the gently falling snowflakes. She was about to get up when her attention became riveted on a man who appeared out of the darkness of the trees and paused to look at the snow-draped garden. It was John and he was about to walk towards the house but, as if sensing her watching him, he tilted his head and looked up at her window.
Without moving her position, she gazed down into his upturned face, feeling a searing stab of raw emotion pierce her heart. She remembered how it had felt when he held her, the caress of his finger when he had drawn it gently down her cheek. Holding his gaze, she saw there was something in his eyes that made her heart beat wildly—a softness, a glow. What was the meaning of it? What was the magic of the man when once again, with just a look, he could make her feel the melting sensation in her secret parts? His gaze was like a potent caress as she looked down into his brooding dark eyes.
Raising his hand, with an enigmatic smile and small wave he turned and entered the house. She was tempted to go down to receive him, but, realising the danger of doing so at this hour, she climbed into bed. Sleep eluded her as she tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning because of him, then her dreams were filled with such longings and yearnings as she never thought to experience.
* * *
The following day was cold, but thankfully fine for their ride into the city and Lincoln’s Inn. The snow had melted with the dawn. Catherine questioned the use of horses in favour of the coach, but John pointed out that once they entered the city they would make better progress on horseback. Shrouded in long cloaks, their hair concealed beneath tall hats, they rode in silence. Catherine couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at her companion. The sight of him on the spirited stallion with its high-flying tail drew her admiration. Horse and rider flowed along together.
The sun’s rays trailed across the unfolding landscape and a silvery mist hung over the London skyline on the horizon, its church spires and parapets providing a jagged edge. On reaching the outskirts, Catherine was both enthralled and repelled in equal measure. It was six years since she had been there and it was exactly as she remembered. It seethed with noisy activity beneath a noxious cloud of smoking chimneys and gutters running down the streets, choked with all manner of refuse. Animals, carriages and hand-drawn barrows all vied for right of way. Beggars and starving children rummaged for food while the prosperous openly despised them for their suffering.
‘The poor are always with you,’ John said on seeing Catherine’s appalled and distressed expression.
‘So it would seem,’ she replied, wondering if it would ever return to how it had been before the war, with music and dancing and the theatres and the King’s scandal-ridden court. Not that she had experienced any of it herself, but she had loved listening to the gossip the servants brought with them to Oakdene. She was relieved when they entered a better part of town, with smart streets and houses with Palladian façades inhabited by the rich.
On locating the address of Mr Isaac Morton, they were expected and shown into his office. Mr Morton, Thomas’s lawyer, was to preside over the legal affairs. His offices used to be in Worcester until he upped and settled in London. John took him aside and spoke quietly to him on what he told Catherine was a private matter before proceedings began.
After expressing sympathy for their loss, seated at a large, highly polished desk and surrounded by books and papers, with his elderly grey head bowed over Thomas Stratton’s last will and testament, he quickly got down to business. After he h
ad read out the small gifts Thomas had bequeathed to his loyal retainers, who would be notified shortly, he focused his gaze on the two remaining recipients.
‘What I am about to disclose will not come as anything surprising and you will understand that with the country at war the will was written at a very difficult time. The estate has suffered somewhat—which has been the case in many landed families throughout England. Unfortunately, Lord Stratton beggared himself when he poured the majority of his wealth into the King’s coffers. It’s an expensive business, raising a troop of horse and financing their needs for an indefinite period. The expense and the necessary work to put it right has brought you extra responsibility, I’m afraid.’
‘And nothing at the end of it, it would seem,’ Catherine commented bitterly.
‘I am sorry, Lady Stratton, but that’s how it is. There are no other dependents other than those I have named. There is the inheritance and resources you brought to the marriage, Lady Stratton. In normal times you would have equal jointure from the estate, but these are not normal times. You also keep the property of Wilsden Manor in the town of Hereford, which was in your own inheritance from your mother and, as I understand it, is being managed by her trustees.’
‘It is as I expected,’ Catherine said. ‘I am aware of the terms of the settlement that were negotiated and agreed upon with my father and Thomas on our betrothal.’
‘The whole of the property—that is, the land, Carlton Bray Castle, and other properties—since the demise of your father and elder brother are to go to you, sir, as his direct heir of the Sussex line of Strattons. I trust this is in accordance with what you were expecting.’
‘It is,’ John said, ‘although living life on the Welsh Marches is not the life I had planned.’
‘You are to leave the army, I believe.’
John nodded. ‘Yes. I am done with fighting. I hope to leave London for my family home in Sussex within the next week.’
‘Just in time for Christmas. Let us hope that the last foray at Preston will be the end of it and you can enjoy your retirement. However,’ he said, looking up from the document and peering at them both anxiously, ‘there is something else. I told you at the beginning that this will was written at the beginning of the war. Since then Lord Stratton added a codicil, just days before his death. I received word from him from Newcastle where he had been imprisoned for several weeks. He was also suffering from severe wounds he acquired at the battle at Preston in August this year. He was a much valued client, so I took ship for Newcastle as soon as I received the letter.’
John cast him a puzzled look. ‘I knew nothing about a codicil.’
‘He must have had his reasons.’
‘Does it pose a problem? Does it alter the inheritance?’ asked Catherine, wary of what was to come.
‘No, but—it is a delicate matter, my lady. However, it might be of some comfort to you knowing you were in his thoughts at the very end and that he had your best interest—and those of the estate—at heart.’
Catherine stared at him in disbelief. In fact, she would have laughed were the situation not of so serious a nature. ‘Pardon me if I appear surprised, Mr Morton, but my husband was not known to be sentimental. To my knowledge he never considered anyone other than himself.’ Her words were critical and condemning, but she would not believe that Thomas’s thoughts had been favourable to her at the very end.
‘No—well, he made it clear to me that he was concerned that you, being a young woman, possibly taking up residence at Wilsden Manor on his demise, would be unprotected should the war continue and that you would be more secure if you were to return to your father’s house, Oakdene House, in London.’
Catherine shook her head in bewilderment. ‘But—what has that to do with a codicil? There has to be more.’
Mr Morton coughed nervously. ‘Yes—there is. It concerns your stepmother—Blanche Kingsley.’
A cold hand clutched at Catherine’s heart. ‘Blanche? But—I don’t understand...’
‘He—your husband—discovered he had a son—born to Blanche Kingsley three years ago.’
Silence followed his pronouncement, the words hanging in the air of the small office.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Stratton. This must be painful for you to hear.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Catherine replied, almost choking on the words. ‘I am already aware of my late husband’s indiscretion. Pray continue, Mr Morton. I want to know everything.’
‘Very well. It was important to him that the child would be taken care of. As in illegitimate child he could not inherit the estate or title. Lord Stratton’s wealth was gone and Carlton Bray would be sequestered. Knowing this and that the title and estate would pass to you, sir,’ Mr Morton said, directing his gaze at John once more, ‘because you are his heir and a Parliament man, he took comfort in the knowledge that the estate would remain in the Stratton family.’
John nodded. ‘I expect that to be the case.’
‘Lord Stratton recommends that should the war break out once more, you might look to the preservation of Carlton Bray Castle any way you can.’
‘That won’t happen,’ John stated, confident in his experience and knowledge of the present state of the nation. ‘The Royalists are finished.’
‘He was confident that you would look at the facts and decide what is to be done for the best. However, he realised that he had no right to put pressure on you, no right at all. He states that despite the differences that divided you during the war, he knows you to be an honourable man and that family is important to you. Knowing Blanche has no means of her own to support herself and his son and that Sir Edward would exclude her from his will because of their adulterous affair, he asks that you see she and his son James are comfortably housed and that you see to his education.’
His expression closed, John nodded. ‘My cousin has given me much to consider. I will, of course, think over what is to be done that will benefit all concerned. However, we must not forget that Sir Edward is still very much alive and, while ever Blanche and her son have a roof over their heads, nothing can be decided.’
Catherine was sitting perched on the edge of her seat as if her backbone was made of hard steel, her expression unreadable. ‘You are right to say that nothing can be decided while ever my father has breath in his body.’ She got to her feet, clenching her fists in the folds of her skirts to stop them from shaking. ‘Is there anything else, Mr Morton?’
‘No, I think that is it, Lady Stratton.’
‘I thank you for your time and your patience, Mr Morton. There is just one more thing that I hope you can tell me.’
‘Of course. Anything.’
‘Who was it who told Thomas he had a son?’
‘I believe it to be Sir Edward Kingsley—your father, Lady Stratton.’
‘I see. Please excuse me,’ she said, turning and crossing to the door with a quiet dignity, having no wish to stay and hear more, only a strong desire to be by herself.
Chapter Six
Not until they were in the street did either of them speak. Thomas’s death had affected John deeply, more so since he had inherited Carlton Bray. He would blame himself for ever for arriving too late in Newcastle to speak for his cousin. Because of the opposing forces and heated tempers raging against the Royalists at the time, he had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, while his heart swelled with hatred against the pitiless fate which had forced degradation on all Strattons.
‘It is very much as I expected,’ John said, thrusting his hands into his gloves, giving Catherine no notion of his troubled thoughts. ‘Do you not agree, Catherine?’
Having recovered some of her self-possession, Catherine drew back her shoulders and lifted her head, the action meaning to tell him she was in control of herself. ‘Yes, it was—although I find it hard to accept what Thomas has asked of you. Why would he do that, unless it
was for some malicious reason of his own?’
John shot her an angry look. ‘Thomas was not insane and nor was he a malicious man.’
Catherine’s look was one of scorn. ‘Please do not try to defend my husband to me and do not preach to me of his attributes—not that he had any that I saw. Next you will be telling me that I do him a grave injustice, that he was a man of honour and integrity, a man who considered the well-being of others before his own throughout his life. I am sure he thought this over very carefully before adding the codicil. You would be a fool to even consider what he’s asked of you.’
‘Nevertheless, that is what I will do. When anything happens to your father, Blanche and James’s future must be considered.’
‘I am sure Blanche will be gratified,’ she said coldly. ‘Will you tell her about the codicil?’
‘No. Least said the better at this time. Plenty of time for that later. As for Carlton Bray—I will take care of matters there—unless, of course, you have become so attached to the place you would like to go back.’
‘It was my home for six long years. Despite the troubles I looked on it as my home. But when I left I vowed never to return. I will not go back there. As far as I am concerned, Carlton Bray is the last thing on my mind at this moment. After my miserable marriage to Thomas I want to put it behind me.’
‘And you will not be persuaded to marry again in a hurry.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Then you are fortunate that Thomas’s codicil didn’t suggest that I should marry his widow.’
She glowered at him. ‘Please don’t jest, John, I am not in the mood. I am hardly likely to walk blindly into another marriage—to put myself and my trust completely in another man’s power for the whole of my life.’
The smile that broke across John’s white teeth Catherine found infuriating. ‘Calm your anger, Catherine. This other man you speak of has not asked you to be his wife. I have never forced myself on a woman who didn’t want me—and I feel no temptation to do so now. Despite your abrasive manner and waspish tongue, I have seen in your eyes and felt on your lips that which gives me hope for better things.’
Resisting Her Enemy Lord Page 11