But he was alone, it was true. And the thought of a woman’s body curled up to his in the dark hours of the morning made him ache with a feeling he was better able to ignore when at sea.
Sir Lyle Barrington. What was his role in all this? Why had he brought up the subject of marriage? Why had he been so sure that Lady Catherine would marry him?
“Marry Lady Catherine and you could very well be out of trouble and at sea within the month,” he had said.
Back to sea! Another command! Jocelyn felt light-headed at the thought.
A knock at the door.
Catherine dropped his hand. They both turned.
There was a second knock. The door opened.
“This has just arrived, my lady.” The butler proffered a tray. Jocelyn went to take the letter that lay atop it. The door shut again.
“It is marked urgent.” Jocelyn held the letter out.
Catherine snatched it and ripped it open with an exclamation of annoyance. In the span of a second, he saw her face blanch.
“Lady Catherine? Are you well?” Jocelyn’s eyes went from her deathly pale face to the note.
“Perfectly,” she said. She crumpled the note in her hand. “I am perfectly well.” She threw it against the fireplace; no fire had been lit on this sunny afternoon, but she obviously intended it to go into the grate, where it would burn the next time it was lit.
“What say you, Captain Avebury?”
Catherine turned her attention back to him. The light in her eyes was intense. He wondered what was in the note. It seemed to have encouraged the fighting urge in her.
“Kate,” he said suddenly.
She looked at him blankly.
He smiled at her puzzlement. “Has no one ever called you Kate?”
“Why … why, no.” Catherine looked bewildered. “Is that odd?”
“Do you mean to say that you have been the proper Lady Catherine for your entire life? Even as a mischievous child?”
Catherine’s gaze faltered. She blinked, looked down at her hands, then at the windows on the far wall. The manicured gardens beyond seemed to interest her. Something bitter, yet sad, was reflected in her eyes.
“I have always been Catherine,” she said.
Jocelyn thought of the smell of nutmeg and cloves on the sea air, the birds swirling about overhead. Oh, how he yearned to be aboard ship. To be free again, in a place where any name other than Cap’n was superfluous.
Ah, Kate, he thought with compassion. How little you know of the ties that bind us. What you do not know of what it takes to be free. And it has nothing at all in the world to do with your legs, or your money, or your titles.
He could almost feel the way that her mind worked. He pitied her deeply – not for her bent leg, but for the pain that the ten year-old girl within her struggled to understand. He felt such affection, warmth and understanding for that crippled girl with a face like an angel.
I am not in danger of losing my heart, he thought. Perhaps I love her – but the sea is where I belong.
He reached out for her hand. She looked back at him quickly.
“Kate,” he said, his heart racing. “May I call you Kate?”
Her eyes were filled with tears. She nodded once, then again.
“You may be a fool to trust me, Kate.”
“I know,” she said hoarsely. “I know.”
“You know nothing of what has brought me to this life.”
“We … we all make mistakes, Captain Avebury.” Catherine was having difficulty getting the words out. She lowered her eyes. “I would not presume to judge your mistakes.”
Was it possible that someone on God’s green earth trusted him? Or were her words merely a convenient lie? He bowed his head for a moment, then took a leap of faith: for the first time in decades, he said a prayer to a God he was not at all sure existed.
“Let us go.” He saw her lift her face, an incredulous wave of relief spread over her face. He nodded toward the door. “They will wonder why you are not getting ready.”
“Oh, Captain Avebury—”
“I think Avebury will do. You will raise eyebrows if you insist on addressing me with such formality.” Jocelyn tucked her hand into his arm. “We are certainly very comfortable, are we not? I am sure we can fool them all.”
“I feel as if you have known me all my life.”
“That sounded quite nice, thank you.” He kissed her hand. “You are a brave woman, Kate.”
He saw a blush tinge her cheeks. Were his attempts at congenial affection making her nervous? He opened the door for her and guided her into the hall. One of the housemaids hurried over to assist. In the background, Jocelyn could hear the sounds of a carriage being prepared, the shouts of men bringing horses from the stables.
“Take me upstairs, please,” Catherine said to the maid. She turned to Jocelyn, a momentary expression of uncertainty crossing her face. “Avebury, would you care to—”
“I need to speak to the stables about my horse – a rented hack who needs to be taken back to his unfortunate master. I will see you in the carriage.” He kissed her hand again, feeling the maid’s abashed stare. Surprisingly, he did not feel in the least nervous, instead he felt rather smug. Take that, you impudent fools!
He recalled that his hat was still in the drawing room. He went to retrieve it, absently wondering what insane urge had provoked him to do this crazy thing, and wondering in addition whether he would actually go through with it.
Then he saw the note Catherine had received, lying beside the grate in a tight, crumpled ball, exactly where it had landed. He gazed at it for a long moment before moving slowly across the room. He felt detached from his own actions, but bent to pick up the letter.
He smoothed out the single sheet.
I must see you about this matter which concerns us both.
Meet me in London as I sense that I should not be seen at Wansdyke.
L.
Jocelyn crumpled the sheet again and tossed it into the fireplace.
Sir Lyle certainly worked quickly.
What was he up to?
Chapter 18
The journey felt much longer than it actually was. The presence of Kate’s maid made it impossible for them to discuss anything and, in any case, he was too amazed at his own audacity to have made terribly good conversation.
The note had to have been from Sir Lyle. Unless … could Kate be involved with anything else that would make her react with the nervousness he had seen on her face? He doubted that she had been exposed to much beyond the narrow confines of Bath society. She complained of the restrictiveness of Bath but, in fact, she did many things that ensured her isolation. She seemed to have a fair circle of acquaintance in London, but she could hardly be described as an active member of the ton.
What would scare a strong woman like Catherine Claverton?
He considered the notion as he stared out at the gathering dusk. They were not to stop for supper until it was time to change horses, and there was a picnic basket somewhere in the carriage. He realised with mild amusement that he had nothing to wear except for the clothes on his back, but he supposed that a message could be sent to the inn asking them to send on the rest of his clothing.
What would scare Kate?
He glanced in her direction. She too was staring out at the twilight, her face perfectly calm and relaxed. She looked older than her twenty-four years. The grey light turned her blonde hair silver, and aged her countenance gracefully. How would she take to life at sea, he wondered idly.
It was a stupid thought. She was not going to sea. But he – he would be off as soon as he could manage it, and once again feel the tilting deck beneath his feet. And Kate would have Wansdyke and whatever else mattered so much to her.
He tried not to think of a child. He did not want to think of the young earl he was planning to leave behind. He knew that it would not be the same as the abandonment he had himself faced as a child. His son would have the powerful Countess St Clair on h
is side. What need would he have of a sea captain – a liar – as a father?
Jocelyn had heard of places like Albrook Hall. They had a view of the house from the vast grounds and driveway long before they finally arrived at the door. It could have swallowed up a thousand Wansdykes, he thought. To a man who had spent much of his youth in a tiny cabin, it seemed outrageous. To own so much was, perhaps, more a burden than a benefit.
There were only a few members of the household staff to greet them. The butler himself stepped up to open the door of the carriage. “Lady Catherine,” he said, sounding weary.
Catherine ignored the butler. She nodded at her maid, who murmured something to the butler as she climbed down. Jocelyn caught the pained look on the butler’s face as he nodded and backed away.
Catherine turned to Jocelyn. “Do you not let them fool you,” she said tightly. “They despise me, every last one of them.” She pushed herself forward on the seat and reached out to where her maid waited.
“You must allow me,” Jocelyn said, reaching for her hand. She shot him a startled look, then smiled.
“I keep forgetting,” she said. She let him precede her; with his feet once again on firm ground, he lifted her easily from the carriage.
“This is Captain Avebury,” Catherine said loudly to the small knot of household staff. The housekeeper was there, as well as several of the maids and footmen. They were uniformly sad and exhausted-looking.
“Captain Avebury and I are betrothed. Kindly prepare a room for him in the east wing. We will be calling on my father at once.” She addressed the butler. “Is he awake?”
“No, Lady Catherine.”
“That is unfortunate. Where is Mr Beaseley?”
“In the library, my lady.”
Catherine looked at Jocelyn. “I would like you to see Mr Beaseley as soon as possible. Are you too tired? Would you like to rest?”
Jocelyn shook his head. He was extremely tired, in fact, and the journey, hunger and disbelief at what was happening made him light-headed. But he wanted to get it over with – whatever it was.
* * *
It was a strange feeling – she was entering Albrook Hall as her own mistress at last. No matter how many years had passed, she had never quite overcome the feeling that, at Albrook, she was merely the crippled little girl whom everyone viewed with pity. Now, on Captain Avebury’s – Jocelyn’s – arm, she was finally her own person. How cruel, the lot of a female: passed along from one man to the next. To think that her only hope of independence was to find a man who would marry her.
She wondered what Jocelyn was thinking now, whether he was regretting his impetuous acceptance of her offer. She wondered what had finally pushed him over the edge, what part of her attempts to persuade him to marry her had made a difference.
She dismissed the butler, saying that she would announce herself to Beaseley. When he murmured his felicitations upon her engagement, she waved him away, annoyed, and clumped down the hall in the direction of the library.
Outside the library door, she paused. She turned to look up at Jocelyn. “Beaseley is my father’s man of business,” she said quietly. “He will want to speak with you regarding a marriage settlement and suchlike. He has my complete trust, and he can speak on my behalf as well as that of my father. I know you have no more designs on my fortune than I have on your prize money, and I have no interest in financial discussions in any case, but he will want to go through the formalities. Decide whatever you wish. Also, there is the matter of the licence –he will be able to procure one.”
“Of course,” Jocelyn said. “I understand perfectly. He should be encouraged to protect your interests.”
“He has always done so,” Catherine said, turning back to the library doors. She put her hand on the smooth polished wood. “He is the kindest man I have ever known.” She opened the door.
“Beaseley,” she called, trying to sound cheerful. “I am here.”
“Lady Catherine!” Beaseley exclaimed, rising from behind a desk in the far corner. He came forward, holding out his hands, then paused when he saw Jocelyn.
“Mr Beaseley, I came as soon as I received your message. This is Captain Avebury, of His Majesty’s Navy. We are betrothed. I brought him with me, hoping that perhaps my father might wake one last time and see me happy.” She turned to Jocelyn. “This is the man who ensured that I would not be banished to a life of privation. He did everything to make sure I would continue to live in a way befitting the daughter of the Earl Delamare.”
Jocelyn bowed. “I am honoured, sir.”
“No, no, it is my great delight to make your acquaintance, Captain Avebury,” Beaseley said, coming forward to shake his hand. He cocked a suspicious eye toward Catherine. “Very sudden happy news, eh?”
Catherine felt her cheeks grow hot. “Your sarcasm does not flatter you, Beaseley,” she retorted. “Captain Avebury is a relative newcomer to Bath. And I wished him to be acquainted with my papa.”
“Of course, of course,” Beaseley said, sounding contrite. “I beg your pardon.”
“I want to see him immediately,” Catherine continued, “but I imagine that there are things that can only be discussed between you men.” She wrinkled her nose with disdain. “It pains me to say those words, but I know well it is the way of things. Avebury, will you see me to the stairs? The footmen will bring a chair for me and take me to my father’s rooms.”
She took Jocelyn’s arm, and let him lead her out. At the foot of the stairs, she turned to him, conscious of the listening footmen. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I promise all will be well.”
Before she could turn away, Jocelyn bent and kissed her swiftly on the lips. She felt her eyes suddenly fill. She knew that he meant to give her strength, that he only had the kindest feelings in his heart.
“I wish I were going to accompany you,” he murmured. “Take this for strength.” He kissed her again. “They are watching you. Do not cry.”
“I won’t.” Catherine blinked hard. She turned and hobbled over to the waiting chair.
* * *
A small crowd had gathered in her father’s rooms. Two doctors were conferring in hushed tones. Her father’s aged valet sat crumpled in a seat near the window. A maid was quietly tidying the room.
Catherine hesitated at the door. No one paid her the least bit of attention. Somewhat annoyed, she stomped loudly over to where the doctors stood. They looked up equally irritated, but their faces softened when they saw her.
“Lady Catherine—” one of them began.
“Go away,” Catherine interrupted. “All of you.”
The two doctors looked at each other. There was a long pause.
Becoming progressively more annoyed, Catherine pointed at the door. “There it is,” she said. “The door. You may leave now.”
“He is at the end, Lady Catherine.” This came from the old valet who gripped a wadded-up handkerchief tightly in one gnarled hand as he gestured. “He is at the end.”
The doctors looked to the valet for direction and this infuriated Catherine.
How dare they! How dare they ignore me!
“What is taking all of you so long!” she exclaimed. “He is my father and I want to see him alone!”
The maid was already at the door, beckoning to the valet. He stood slowly, joints creaking, and shuffled across the room. Catherine watched him with a hard-hearted coldness that she could not repress. She could see in her mind’s eye, as clear as day, the imperious face of the man refusing to admit her to her father’s rooms when, as a child, she had wanted to ask why he had had her favourite puppy drowned.
“I am the Lady Catherine Claverton!” she had screamed, as the door was shut in her ten-year-old face. In a fit of rage she had slammed her crutch so forcefully against the door that it had splintered, shards scattering over the hard floor of the hallway.
It was shortly after that she had been sent to Wansdyke.
She would never forget it, never. She wanted all of these pe
ople gone, out of her life, out of any memory of her life. She wanted to begin her life anew. The games people played might be more dangerous but she was smarter now. Wiser. She would not allow anyone to get under her skin.
With the room empty, she went to see her father as he lay still beneath the bedclothes. A faint whistling noise startled her, but she realised that it was his breathing. His lips, parched and cracked, were parted. He looked very old, far older than his years. The air reeked of unwashed skin and sickness.
“Well,” Catherine said softly. “Here I am.” She bent a little closer. “Can you hear me, Papa? They say you are dying. Is it truly the end? Or will you remain with us a little longer?” She cocked her head a bit, trying to see him properly. She was repulsed by the smell, but she needed to have a final look at her father.
“I am getting married, Papa,” she said, a little more loudly. “So you mustn’t die yet. Because I have no intention of wearing black and postponing my wedding.”
A prolonged groan caused her to jump back in fright. The cracked lips moved.
“Papa?” In spite of herself, she felt the old, familiar feeling of intimidation starting to bubble up in her stomach. He was going to forbid the wedding; her mind screamed in panic. He was going to have one of his magnificent rages, he was going to order Captain Avebury banned from Wansdyke—
I am my own mistress. I am my own mistress.
She forced herself to think calmly. This old shell of a human being was no threat to her. Beaseley would do anything she asked. The Delamare earldom was doomed. And Captain Avebury would marry her. No one could stop the inevitable turning of the wheels, the spinning of the earth. All would happen as she had planned.
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