Degree of Solitude

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  “You know who I am?”

  “This is a small town and the gossips number more than fleas on a dog. A strange, beautiful woman who has been here long enough to strike up an acquaintance with Mrs. Barr, and who doesn’t have herself driven about town like an upper-class lady?” Maggie smiled once more. “’twas easy to guess,” she finished.

  “Then you might also know why I am here.”

  Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “I’m thinking Mr. Williams and his agony brings you here. I don’t need to guess that one.”

  Catrin reached into her reticule and pulled out Bronwen’s letter. “My sister, who is knowledgeable about such matters, says I must acquire some Oil of Lavender and mix it with cod liver oil, to bring Mr. Williams some relief.”

  “On the surface flesh, most certainly,” Maggie replied, moving over to the sink. Her dress was simple, but clean and neat. Her sleeves were whole and fastened, too.

  On shelves above the sink were rows of small, dark brown glass bottles. They had no labels. Instead they were marked with various symbols with a wax marker.

  Maggie pulled a bottle from the shelf. “I have a great deal of lavender right now. Most of my business runs a certain way, especially in this little town. I’m right out of Pennyroyal, so it’s just as well you don’t need it.” She laughed. “That’s another reason Mrs. Barr disapproves.” She put the bottle on the table between them.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Catrin admitted.

  “Then Maureen Barr did not completely besmirch my reputation,” Maggie said. “When men ruin women, sometimes they leave behind a curse which needs…fixing. Do you understand?”

  Catrin stared at her in horror. She did understand. “Women do that? They rid themselves of…of…babies?”

  Maggie tilted her head. Her green eyes were thoughtful. “I’m thinking it’s a choice you might have faced once.” Her gaze flickered over Catrin’s figure.

  Catrin fumbled for the coins in her reticule and put a crown on the table.

  “Oh, that’s far too much!” Maggie protested.

  Catrin shook her head, her cheeks glowing. “Keep it.” She grabbed the bottle and hurried from the house, into the fish-fouled air, which suddenly seemed sweet in comparison.

  She hurried back to Ysgolheigion, her cheeks burning most of the way. She had herself contained by the time she stepped into the servants’ hall and asked for a cup full of cod liver oil.

  “Is Mr. Williams awake?” she asked, when Sayers brought the cup of oil to her in the dining room.

  “Mary heard movement in the room a short while ago,” Sayers said. “I was about to take up a breakfast tray just now, to anticipate him.”

  “I will take it up. Bring the tray to me,” Catrin said.

  Sayers didn’t protest or ask why. He merely returned with the tray. Catrin finished mixing the oils in the teacup when he returned. She recapped the Oil of Lavender and put the cup on the tray.

  Sayers lifted his brow. “Is that for Mr. Williams to drink?”

  “To add to the scar,” Catrin told him. “It might help.”

  “If he’ll listens to you explain, it might,” Sayers said.

  She lifted the tray, which was unexpectedly heavy. “It is possible that with me, he might listen for a heartbeat or two longer than anyone else.” She gave him a smile. “Which is why I am taking the tray up.”

  Catrin wasn’t sure how staff managed to hold a heavy tray and knock on a door at the same time. She resorted to kicking at the door with the toe of her boot, which resulted in a muffled sound.

  She waited.

  The door opened. Daniel’s one eye peered around it.

  “I have breakfast for you,” Catrin told him. “You can take the tray, or I can put it on your table. Which would you prefer?”

  His brow lowered. “Why are you bringing it?”

  Her heart gave a little leap. She had deliberately not recalled what had happened during the night. Now, though, it was all she could think of. She gritted her teeth and fought to not lower her gaze to his hand where it gripped the edge of the door.

  “I’m bringing the tray, because I wanted to explain the cup in the corner, there.” She couldn’t spare a hand to point at it. “May I put this down? It is quite heavy.”

  Daniel slid his hand under the middle of the tray and lifted it from her. The china rattled a little. “Thank you.” He swung the door, to shut it.

  “The oil!” she blurted.

  He peered through the crack in the door. “What of it?”

  “It is for your…face. I asked Bronwen about it and she said this will help. You rub it in—or dab it on if that is too painful, and let it soak in. Once, twice a day, or however often it helps. It will ease the tightness and the lavender will help in other ways.”

  Daniel’s jaw flexed. “You told Bronwen about me?”

  Catrin could feel her jaw loosen in surprise. “Daniel, everyone in the family knows about you. How could they not?”

  He shut the door. He didn’t quite slam it, although he might as well have. She had hurt him.

  Again.

  Catrin went downstairs to see if her apron was clean and dry. Good, hard, solid work would help, now.

  She spent the rest of the day cleaning the drawing room, then moved into the front hall. She rubbed sweet smelling beeswax into the panels in the front hall, the stair banisters and railings. It was satisfying work. The chatter of Gwen and Mary was pleasant.

  Catrin ate a frugal, early supper then wrote at her desk until tiredness sent her to bed. She hoped she might fall asleep quickly, because of the broken night’s sleep last night. Instead she laid with her eyes wide open, her heart pattering, wondering if Daniel would come to her once more.

  Wondering so made her body tighten and her heart to race even more, which pushed sleep even further away.

  With a hiss, she pummeled her pillow and resettled herself, then cleared her thoughts of everything but the sound of the sea at Innesford. The waves rolling into the beach, below the cliffs. The crescent of beach sweeping around to the village at the end of the cove. The lighthouse on the end of the breakwater. The masts of ships bobbing against the tiny jetty.

  The sound of a ball hitting a cricket bat. The cries of the men as the ball soared toward the trees. The laughter of croquet players as someone pegged out.

  The murmur of conversations on the first night of any years’ gathering. The warmth, the sharing…

  She woke when Daniel stroked her face, swimming up from sleep with a sigh on her lips. Without thought, she lifted the covers, gripped his wrist and pulled him closer.

  “No…” he breathed.

  “Yes,” she said firmly.

  “About today—”

  “Shh…” She tugged. “We can talk about that later. Now, while you are here and are you, I want you with me, in here. Come, Daniel. Come here.”

  He hesitated.

  “Or should I merely touch you as you touched me last night?” she asked, reaching for him.

  He groaned and caught her wrist in his hand. His fingers tightened. “Wanton.”

  “With you, yes.” She didn’t pull against his grip.

  Daniel dropped her hand. She watched his shape move as he shed his clothes, her heart thudding.

  He slid into the bed with her. His long length was cold against hers and she gasped and held him against her, sharing her warmth. She slid her hand over his body, remembering the shape of it. The strength. He was a powerful man in both strength and determination. A weaker man might have succumbed to the pain a long time ago.

  Catrin said nothing about that. Instead, as he stripped her nightgown from her, she let her lips explore where her hands had gone, until it was Daniel who writhed upon the bed. His flesh was hot and throbbed against her hands and mouth, the muscles bunching and smoothing beneath. Quivering at her touch.

  Until, with a groan and a growl, he flipped her onto her back, and drove into her with a single hard thrust, his body strainin
g over her.

  Catrin sighed. It felt so good to be possessed in this way. She pressed her hand against his good cheek, trying to tell him without words how much she loved the sensations he drew from her.

  Daniel turned his chin and kissed her palm.

  He thrust again, working his body against hers, driving them both toward the exquisite peak. As she cried out her satisfaction, so did Daniel. And her eyes stung with unexpected tears.

  “No, no, no…” he breathed, his voice hoarse, as he wiped them away.

  “They’re not for you,” she whispered, as they laid together, their hearts slowing.

  “They should not be, not now. I feel…” He drew in a breath. “Nothing,” he added, with a note of wonder in his voice. “Nothing at all.”

  She caught her breath. “No pain…”

  Daniel drew her to him once more and carefully touched his lips to hers. It was a tentative touch. He shook his head. “Not even for the taste of your lips do I dare risk bringing back the pain. I’m sorry, Cat.”

  She made herself smile at him. “There are other ways to taste me,” she reminded him, bringing his hand to her breast.

  “Mm….indeed,” he agreed with a growl, lifting her knee over his thigh and capturing her bottom.

  He took her again, in a wild storm of frantic movements which ended with them both trembling, perspiration sheening their bodies and pleasure hazing their thoughts.

  It was not the only time that night he turned to her. In between, he held her against him. He might have slept. She wasn’t sure. He said nothing and she was happy to listen to his heart against her cheek and let her thoughts loose.

  She had held the memories so tightly inside her, for so long, it was a relief to let herself think about them. She could afford to remember, to tally up the sins of the past, because now there was hope that the future might not be as bleak as she had expected.

  Even with Daniel in her life in this limited, painfully constricted degree, she had hope, which she had not had since this time last year.

  In January of 1871, shortly after the disastrous Christmas when Daniel had confessed he loved her, forcing Catrin to deny him, Mairin had run away to France to find Iefan, whom she thought had joined the French Foreign Regiment. France was at war with Prussia.

  Catrin’s mother, Annalies, had conspired to help Mairin with her plans, which did not surprise Catrin greatly. Raymond, though, had been so filled with fury everyone crept about the house for two days, afraid to speak too loudly and draw his attention.

  In February, Annalies came to Catrin and sat beside her to hold a skein while Catrin wound the ball. As Catrin worked, her mother suggested she travel to London for a day or two.

  “Raymond doesn’t frighten me, Mama,” Catrin said. “He shouts, but he is scared for Mairin, that is all.”

  Annalies nodded. “I’m not sending you to London to escape him. If I were, I would go myself, for if Raymond was to strike anyone at all, it would be me.” Her smile was mischievous. “I have a logistics problem, Catrin. Mairin wrote to the Duke of Gascony before she left, breaking off their engagement. By now he has received the letter. It is time to return the ring to him, too.”

  Catrin’s mouth parted in surprise. “You want me to give it to him?”

  “No one else at Marblethorpe can do it,” Annalies said. “Certainly, I cannot. Neither can any of the men. Gascony would find it shameful to have a man return the ring to him. You are young and pretty and it will help soothe his ruffled feelings.”

  “Mama, are you match-making?” Catrin asked suspiciously.

  “With you? It is too late for that, is it not?” her mother asked, her tone steady.

  Catrin’s breath caught. “What do you mean by that?” she demanded.

  Annalies smiled. “Gascony will sense your unavailability, which will save you from complications in that regard. Will you take the ring back to him? A day or two in London…you can visit Ben. I’m sure Wakefield and Stephen and Sharla would be pleased to see you, along with any other friends who stay in London year-round.” Her tone was innocent.

  Catrin stared at her suspiciously. “How much do you know, Mother?”

  “I understand more than you think, but know less facts than you suspect,” Annalies replied calmly. “When you are ready, you can tell me. I trust you, darling daughter. You are a capable woman.” Her smile was warm and knowing.

  Catrin hugged her, making a snarled tangle of the wool.

  With the ring wrapped security in a scrap of soft linen, inside a sealed envelope in her reticule, Catrin traveled to London the next day. Ben met her at the train station, for Annalies had wired ahead, telling Ben of her arrival.

  “You’re to sever the last tie with Gascony, I’m told,” Ben said, wrapping the furs over their laps as the carriage pulled away from the station. It was a bitterly cold day.

  “It is a most unusual assignment,” Catrin admitted. “Mama is correct, though. No one else in our family could do it, and no one in Mairin’s family should do it. This is the kindest way to return the ring.”

  “I believe the bearer of the ring might have something to do with it,” Ben said. “You have sympathy for your fellow man. There are some harsher souls incapable of thinking beyond their noses. You will be gentle. Do you want to finish the deed immediately? I can have the carriage drop you at Gascony’s house right now.”

  “Without an appointment?”

  “It will give him no time to brood about it. Or refuse the appointment, either.” Ben’s white teeth flashed beneath his beard, as he leaned out the window to give the driver fresh instructions.

  Accordingly, the smart little coach pulled up outside the gray stone house on unfashionable Berkeley Square. Catrin presented herself at the door and pulled the bell. The butler seemed puzzled by her presence but let her enter the house. Catrin kept her shawl and coat on. “I won’t be staying,” she told the butler. “I only need a minute or two.”

  The butler, an older man with a long, hooked nose, looked doubtful. “It’s just…he’s not in a fit state to receive anyone, miss.”

  “I am aware of his circumstances,” Catrin replied. “That is why I am here.”

  “Well, if you’re sure…” The butler led her through the public rooms into a conservatory full of ferns and palms. It was a small room and overheated, making her reconsider the wisdom of retaining her shawl. She let the shawl drop around her elbows and unbuttoned the top buttons of her coat.

  The butler held the ferns aside. Planted on the earth itself, between the stems of the ferns, was a small wrought-iron table and matching chair.

  Gascony sat upon the chair. Catrin had only seen him once, when walking along the Row before returning home to write, during the Season. He had been in Mairin’s company, on that occasion. He had been a jaunty, upright figure, a little shorter than Mairin herself.

  He was a defeated man, now. He hunched over the table, his head in his hands. Before him was a silver tray bearing a glass and a nearly empty decanter.

  Gascony looked up. His eyes were red.

  “Oh…” Catrin breathed.

  “Here, Miss,” the butler said, sliding a matching chair between the ferns, and placing it in front of the table.

  Catrin perched on the front edge of the chair. “Gascony, I am so sorry.”

  Gascony’s chin wobbled. Then he pulled himself together. “You are Mairin’s cousin?”

  “Catrin,” she supplied. “We might have met more frequently, last season, although I was busy with other matters and didn’t attend as many functions as I normally do.” She opened her reticule, wondering if she could deliver this final blow to the man. “I’m sorry, your Grace. I am here to return your ring.”

  She slid the envelope onto the tray beside the decanter. The ring, inside, clinked against the crystal with a muffled sound.

  Gascony closed his eyes. “I love her,” he breathed. “I only know that now, when she is gone. I spent a season believing she would be a good choic
e…politically, you understand?”

  “Perfectly,” Catrin replied. “Wedding Mairin would have aligned you with one of the most powerful families in England. What we lack in titles and royal blood we compensate for with money and influence. I am not unaware of my family’s stature among society.”

  Gascony nodded. “Yes, exactly,” he said. “I knew she didn’t love me. I just didn’t think she would break it off because…because…” He closed his eyes. “She loves that great oaf of a man!”

  “Iefan is my brother, your Grace,” Catrin reminded him diplomatically.

  Gascony stared at her. “Do you know why I sit here?”

  “Among the ferns? No, your Grace.”

  “That’s where I first saw her, you know. Sitting among the ferns.” He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands. His shoulders shook.

  Catrin got to her feet. She hesitated. “Your Grace, I know this is not the most desirable thoughts to offer at this time, although if my opinion has any weight at all, then I offer it. I don’t believe Mairin was ever yours. Not even when you were engaged. There is someone else who is yours, and you will find them, by and by.”

  “I did find her,” Gascony breathed, his voice muffled behind his hands.

  “No, you didn’t, your Grace. You merely found someone against whom you can measure all others. When you find the one who surpasses Mairin, you will know you have found your true love.”

  Gascony blinked up at her. “Who are you?”

  “Mairin’s cousin, your Grace.”

  “No, no, I mean, who are you? You sound like an old man. A poet or one of those Greek philosophers.”

  Catrin nearly laughed. She barely held it in. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him the truth, that she was Gresham King, whom everyone believed to be the epitome of courage and wisdom and impeccable morals.

  “I’m just a woman, your Grace,” she said, instead.

  He waved her away and reached for the decanter.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ben looked at his watch when she returned to the carriage and whistled crudely. “Less than ten minutes and you emerge unscathed. I am impressed.”