“Lord Desmond.” She gritted through her teeth.
“My Lady. Good evening.”
“There’s nothing good about it, Lord Desmond,” Catherine groaned. “I do believe you’ve just scared away the last soul on this God forsaken hunk of wood who was willing to consider my request.”
“Alas, my endeavors have been successful, then.” He was trying not to laugh, and it angered her further.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.
“I told you, I am a selfish man and I have no intention of permitting you to run off somewhere on your own. I will wait out the remaining months or years of my father’s life, until such a time as I can have you.”
“That is not for you to decide!” she shouted at him. A lump in the dark startled, but she didn’t care if a vagrant or drunken lout was hunched over from the cold heard her.
“But that is where you are wrong. You can’t possibly expect me to watch the woman I fell in love with all of those years ago sail away on a ship, no matter how dire the circumstances may be.”
“F..f..fell in love with?” Catherine felt the shock spread through her body. Had she heard him correctly? Had he confessed something more than simple lusting for her? If she considered it, he was only braving to voice what she felt herself all those years ago. Where she was accustomed to throwing up walls when people ran away from her, he was taking a chance on expressing his feelings when the tides had turned. Now she was the one running away. Would she be drawn in by this hook? Was she to be the lonely fish in the sea swimming without purpose, or would she allowed herself to be netted in by his pretty words that could end up being full of empty promises?
“Yes. I feel it, and I think you feel it too, Lady Catherine. But you are too proud to admit it. You’ve been hurt too many times, even by myself, to allow yourself to be put in a position where it can happen again.”
“So what do you propose we do about this, Lord Desmond? If I were to admit it to you, what resolution have you? I am still betrothed to your father, and still made up in my mind that I’ll not go through with that wedding.”
“It’s simple. Marry me.” He reached out and cupped her arms under her elbow, and her shock continued to grow. She was so flummoxed that she started to laugh.
“I beg your pardon?” she choked out between peals of laughter. “You can’t be serious, Lord Desmond.”
“I am serious, Lady Catherine. If you please, it is just Thomas. It always has been. Don’t put that wall of formality between us. You hated it when we were children, and you hate it now. I can see it on your face. Marry me. What better way to resolve our issue than by doing the very thing our father’s have forbade us from doing, and then face their wrath together in our union?”
Catherine stepped back from him, still laughing. She turned in disbelief and began walking up the pier towards the street. She heard Thomas fall into step beside her and he didn’t press her further, but every so often she would hiccup with laughter. After a few blocks, she stopped in the crossroad of two vacant streets and realized that she had no inkling of which direction she was going in. She felt that was an accurate representation of her life as well. She had meant to procure transportation that evening to take her to places unknown, and Lord Desmond was offering her just that in his hand in marriage. Yet she was shying away from him.
“Where are you going?” he asked softly when she looked up and down the streets. The more she considered that she was lost, the more panicked she became.
“To work. The problem is, I don’t know the direction from this place.” Her voice was small, even to her. Without warning, Thomas grasped her arms and pulled her into the warm comfort of his embrace. She inhaled, having missed the feeling for so many months now. She dared to let her mind consider what it would be like to wake up every day and feel the press of him next to her. To smell the strong scent of his masculinity. She tipped her head back, feeling the tears stream down her temples from the corners of her eyes.
“Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me so that I might wake from this nightmare and remember that it is all a dream.”
Thomas stroked her temples lightly with his thumbs, capturing the tears. “It doesn’t have to be an illusion or a dream, Lady Catherine. We can make it a reality.”
“Do you have any idea what they will do if we go against their wishes? We could end up on the streets, Thomas,” she whispered.
“There is that. But from what I have observed these many months of following you to ensure you make it safely to and from your nightly pursuits, you aren’t afraid to shy away from a bit of hard work. You’re a clever woman, Lady Catherine Haddington. We would make do.”
Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. She meant to argue with him, but instead he lowered his lips to hers. She trembled, and when his lips met hers, she felt as if he had stolen her breath away.
He delved his tongue into her mouth and she let him assault her senses. She thought that if this was to be the last kiss they ever shared with one another, it must be one that she would remember for many cold nights to come. She still refused to allow her mind the satisfaction of considering that the plan he had proposed might actually work. But when he broke off the kiss, she felt light headed. Her resolve could be shattered at any moment. Thankfully, he didn’t argue or press his case further. He simply guided her down a street and a few moments later, they were standing outside the door of Madame Kingston’s.
Catherine stared at it a long moment, wondering how it had come to this. She was standing on a precipice, and worried she didn’t know which illusion to believe: happiness, or reality. She felt that either way she stepped, she was certain to fall off the side. Her inner turmoil was disrupted when Thomas opened the door and ushered her inside.
Everyone fell silent as they entered together, and it occurred to Catherine that no one other than Claire knew that she was acquainted with Lord Desmond. Madame Kingston slowly put the mug she was sipping on down on the table, and slapped away the man’s hand that had been groping around the front of her dress.
“Lord Desmond, it’s a frightful evening to see ye out and about. An this is the wee woman ye were runnin’ for all those years ago, I ken?”
Catherine looked between Madame Kingston and Claire who looked beside herself with glee. But she was unable to read the inscrutable look on Madame Haddington’s face.
Lord Desmond cleared his throat. “Indeed,it is. I wonder if I might inquire as to the rent of your fine establishment for the evening. You see, we are in need of a reception hall. And, a priest with some less than rigid practices.”
“And what, pray tell, would ye be needin’ all o’ that fer?”
“My good Madame, I wish to be wed this evening to the Lady Catherine here. As you can understand our predicament, the Marriage Act of 1753 has made it difficult for The Lady Catherine and I to elope without the Baron of Clearwater’s permission, and I daresay the Baron’s judgment is taxed o’er much due in part by his age.””
It took a few moments for anyone to react, but when they did, it was with all of the raucous revelry one might find on the Eve of the New Year. The women swarmed around Catherine, and ushered her above stairs where they began grabbing at her hair and clothes. They started pulling her hair up in a fancy pin up, and one of the women went to her own rooms and procured a wedding dress that looked as if it had seen a ceremony or two.
Rose pointed out, “ye’ll look fetchin’, won’t ye m’Lady! Besides, if he cannae keep his eyes on yer smilin’ face, he’s no’ worth yer hand. Is he now?”
Catherine realized she was smiling so wide her face hurt. Without ever saying yes to Lord Desmond, she felt elated that she was willingly going to elope with the man she had waited for her whole life. She allowed herself to be primped and preened. Surprisingly, when they were done, she found they had done a remarkable job. She looked rather radiant.
Madame Kingston burst into the room a few moments later, and she found a bouquet of dried flowers that she
pressed into Catherine’s hand.
“M’Lady, we’ve no’ seen a weddin’ in here in years. No’ one of a couple of class and worth anyways. I knew, I kenned there was somethin’ about ye from the start. Ye’re the one he was on abou’ when I took him in off the streets when he was a lad. The story I got out of him was he was hidin’ from the other lads for befriendin’ a girl. But oh the way he talked abou’ ye, m’Lady! I just kenned it was the woman he was meant to marry! I never would ha’e thought it was you though!”
Madame Kingston drew Catherine into a hug. She could smell sweat and smoke on the Madame’s bosom, but she didn’t mind. She teared up a little, wishing her own mother could be there with her and that even Sarah and Sophia could be with her to witness her nuptials. She was still reeling from the shock of it all, and she wished she could see Lord Desmond one more time before they went through with it. Still, she supposed this was destined to happen all along, and much of her heartache had come from trying to deny it.
When at last Madame Kingston deemed her well and truly ready, the women escorted her out of the same room she had been given sanctuary in all those months ago. It didn’t feel foreign and derelict to her anymore. It felt homely and warm, despite the obvious uses of it every night. Catherine knew home wasn’t the structure itself, but the people in it. She never considered that the family she was searching for her entire life, could be a band of women of ill-repute, prostitutes, and courtesans. But they understood the fundamental need for somewhere they could be accepted and belong.
Catherine looked at Claire, who had tears running down her face. “I won’t forget you, Claire,” she whispered. Claire nodded, unable to speak, and Catherine drew her into a hug. “You’ll be beside me through the ceremony?” she asked, and Claire nodded again.
Catherine wove her fingers through Claire’s, who was witnessing a fairy tale come true in front of her very eyes. Catherine desperately hoped for her friends sake, that she could use the next few moments as a sign of hope until Catherine could get back to her and rescue her. It was interesting to her that Madame Kingston didn’t seem to mind the promise either. She was not interested in keeping other women oppressed and destitute.
Catherine was at the bottom of the stairs when a deafening sound of cheers greeted her. She couldn’t even see Lord Desmond through the crowd, until Madame Kingston bellowed so loudly it shook the rafters.
“Oye, ye daft drunkards! Sit down and make way fer the bride. I’ll no’ be havin’ ye ruin the happiest night the White Chapel has seen in howe’er so many years!” Everyone quieted at her words, and a path was formed towards the entryway to the kitchen, which felt like a gateway to a new life now as it was a few months ago when she first took a job at Madame Kingston’s. She looked into the sea of drunk, happy faces, and despite most of them being vagrants, pickpockets, probably some of the lowest of scoundrels, she couldn’t help but to notice how pleased they all were. A moment of bliss was so rare a gift to them that they clung to the moments of celebration like they were the very air they needed to breath.
Catherine turned her gaze to finally look at Thomas. He absolutely beamed at her. His smile took her breath away and regardless of her dirty, stained gown, she felt like the most beautiful, precious thing to him in the entire world. As she continued to walk forward, she knew that denying this had been so wrong. She could only imagine what he must be thinking and feeling through his radiant smile. What she loved the most about it was the way it crinkled his eyes at the corner, like when they were younger. She saw the glint in the depths that suggested his devilish nature and it made her smile even wider.
“Och, there’s the look fer ye.” Madame Kingston was standing up next to him, helping to hold up an old man who looked well into his cups. Catherine froze until she realized this was the priest who was set to marry them. Madame Kingston shook the man, who snorted and blinked in response. Then she wiped the corners of her eyes with her pudgy hands. “Your Grace, she’s approaching.”
“Aye?” The old man looked around and then stood, swaying slightly on his feet. Thomas cupped his elbow and helped Madame Kington hold him upright. Then, the priest cleared his throat and began the service before Catherine was even up to Thomas’ arm.
“Not now ye daft old man!” Madame Kingston hissed.
“Aye?”.
“Ah, now yer Grace. She’s here. Please begin the ceremony.”
They had to pause a few times and shake him awake. He seemed to slur less over the parts that were in Latin, but Catherine and Thomas understood him well enough.
One man in the back shouted, “we cannae hear ye!” Madame Kingston marched back down the aisle and from the sounds of the scuffle, clobbered him with an ale tankard. When she marched back up, no one dared question her motives, although she kindly steered the Priest back on course. By the time it was over, the noise from the cheering crowd practically drowned out when Catherine finally said her vows, but Madame Kingston was quick to point to the lines where the Priest needed to sign the document to make it a legal binding.
It all seemed like a whirlwind to Catherine. One moment she was being congratulated by strangers, the women, and Madame Kingston, and the next, she was in Thomas’ arms, being kissed so thoroughly that the room swam before her eyes when he pulled away. The noise was deafening when he did this, and then she felt like she was floating as he carried her through the crowd and up the stairs, where lewd remarks were called after them. When they were finally in the room where she got ready for the ceremony, there was fresh bread and cheeses waiting for them, and the bed was made with freshly cleaned linens.
Thomas set her down gently and they both jumped when the door banged open. Rose giggled.
“Just so’s ye know m’Lady, I’ll be havin’ tha’ dress back when yer through with it. Me cousins’ havin’ a do up next week!” She pulled the door shut behind her and Catherine and Thomas collapsed on the bed in a fit of laughter. Thomas was every bit the gentleman she expected him to be, and in the morning he shook her awake so they could make their escape back to the townhouse without being missed. A new plan was to be formed, and as Catherine made her way through the sleeping bodies, she let the tears of sorrow slip down her cheeks. She knew it would be a while before she would see any of them again. She climbed her tree for the last time to her bedroom, and when she shut the window behind her and turned to Sarah. She needn’t say anything before Sarah guessed that the radiant look on her face was due to her previous eve’s nuptials.
Chapter 8
Catherine spent the next week stealing glances at Thomas at mealtimes and social gatherings. They snuck quick moments in the parlor and in the darkened corners of hallways as the household busied itself packing for the trip. If Lord Chancellor Haddington suspected anything, he didn’t let on. Neither did the rest of the ton. Catherine went to the plays and the pre-Easter celebration ball in the same gown that she wore the year before, much to her father’s chagrin. But she wanted to keep the sum of pounds she had saved for emergencies at Clearwater Manor if she and Thomas needed to make their escape.
“I just don’t understand why you didn’t purchase a new gown,” her father complained. “Honestly, Lady Catherine, what will the women of your social standing think? What have you been spending your allowance on?”
She shrugged, which was most unladylike. His jaw twitched. Catherine stepped around a footman who was carrying a trunk to one of the waiting carriages. The ride to Clearwater Manor was only a day’s journey from London, if the roads were passable. It was always questionable with the early spring thaw, but even so, they were less than a day from Thetford House, the country house near the forest that she had grown up in.
Catherine permitted Lord Desmond to aid her into the carriage, relishing the feel of his fingers on her own. Her calluses were starting to soften, and she often looked towards the White Chapel district when she went for walks with her “chaperone” Lord Desmond. She wondered how the women were getting on, and missed them terribly. She was
given the opportunity to say goodbye to Lady Sophia the eve before when they had dined with the Viscount of Bradford and the Lady. It was a solemn affair.
Lady Sophia and she spoke privately when the men retired into the study for a brandy.
“It will be alright, Lady Catherine,” Lady Sophia’s voice quavered. Catherine looked down at her round belly. She would soon be sequestered for her condition, and Catherine felt sorry for her. She hated being locked up, and she had never felt more liberated than she had in the last week. She felt it was almost a betrayal to leave Lady Sophia here to her own afflictions.
“Oh, I know it will, Lady Sophia.” She reached over and squeezed the other woman’s hand.
“This is a drastic change in your disposition, Lady Catherine.” Lady Sophia tried to sit up straighter, but she winced and held her back.
“I suppose it is,” Lady Catherine said. “But then, all things are the will of the Lord, yes?”
“Yes, as my current affliction suggest, the work of the Lord is done by his will.” Both women crossed themselves, but Catherine didn’t have the heart to divulge to Lady Sophia that the Lord was probably sorely vexed with her transgressions at present. “I thought you despised Baron Desmond?”
“Oh, I can assure you, I do. But I have new perspectives on the situation.” Lady Catherine reached across and picked up Lady Sophia’s tea cup for her.
“Do tell.” Lady Sophia sipped graciously.
“Just that it isn’t lasting,” she explained. “I suppose if I can weather a winter, so can I weather the icy chill of a cruel old man’s heart.” She didn’t bother to add she needn’t even do that. Lady Sophia, as well as the rest of the ton, would find out the truth soon enough. Catherine was surprised the news hadn’t flitted up through the classes yet, but with the harsh spring, much of London’s elite were stuck in their homes. Lady Catherine and Lord Desmond would be the talk of the ton for several Seasons to come, surely. But she didn’t care; she was happy. She was with a man who wanted her as much as she wanted him. She was desperate for more time alone with him.
A Rogue's Courtship: Clean Regency Romance Collection Page 7