“Oh, mistress, are you hurt?” the maid asked.
Catherine nodded absently. “Fine, just a small burn, nothing serious.” She did not even worry about her tone with the servant. She felt pain, which meant she was not dreaming, which meant an owl had come and invited her to dance in the forest.
The maid finished setting the lunch things on a tray and set it over Catherine’s knees. The scent of tea was intoxicating. Catherine took it in shaking hands, using it as an anchor in her unsteady world.
“What type of leaf is this?” Catherine asked, hoping conversation would ease her troubled thoughts.
“Darjeeling, mistress. Mrs. Jones sent it over as a congratulatory present.”
Catherine inhaled the aroma once more. It was much more fragrant and earthy than she remembered.
“Mrs. Jones?” She set the cup down, as appealing as it smelled, her stomach had turned.
“Yes, the neighbors down the way. The master is quite close with their son, Henry.”
“I see, I had not realized.” She stared at the offending cup.
“You can drink it, mistress. It should be cool enough now,” the parlor maid said, watching her with a hopeful expression.
Catherine stared bewildered at the parlor maid. Did she think she was rejecting the tea because Miss Jones’ mother had sent it? She would hate to seem spoiled or intolerant.
“Thank you, I shall.” She took a draught. The warmth radiated through her and left a pleasant growing heat in her belly. Her mind wandered as she drank the tea. She thought of Edward, and more importantly, she thought of his sister’s veiled allusions to Miss Henrietta Jones. Each sip intensified her frustration with Edward. Who was this woman? What had brought an end to their courtship? She had to know. As she set down her cup, she resolved to call upon Miss Jones. She had not even realized that thoughts of fairytale dances had been dashed from her mind and in their place an all-consuming jealousy began to fester.
She set down her cup with a faint clink. “Thank you,” she said to the maid, who had continued to hover as she drank.
The parlor maid peered down into the empty cup. “If you do not need anything else, mistress?”
Catherine waved her away, her mind focused on writing a letter to Miss Jones asking her to visit. The parlor maid bowed as she exited the room. Catherine did not see the smile that curled the maid’s lips or how the illusion she wore faded as she left her room. A few steps down the hall the maid had disappeared, and in her place, a bent-over man scurried through the shadows and down a servant’s hall. His mistress would be pleased. He had planted the potion, and it had taken effect immediately, it seemed. Soon the jealousy in her heart would consume her, and she would be ready for his mistress’ plans.
Chapter Nine
Dr. McCrae pronounced Catherine well enough to be up and about again the next day. She returned from her morning exercise, in which she had given the forest a wide berth. She was resigned to ignoring Mr. Thorn and Tabitha the owl. She did not have time for fantasies when her marriage may be at risk.
Miss Jones had accepted an invitation to tea that afternoon. After dressing, Catherine went to wait in the parlor for Miss Jones. Heat churned in her stomach, and though she attempted to work on mending Edward’s cravat, as she had planned to be doing when Miss Jones arrived, she could not sit still. Her hands shook, and her feet would not rest.
The all-consuming jealousy threatened to devour her. Never before had Catherine experienced such intense emotions. Her head swam, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She went to the window that faced the lane and cracked it open. A cool breeze entered and blew over her skin but did little to quench the flames that licked at her inside.
A slender woman walked down the lane. She had a bonnet on, pulled forward, disguising her features. She wore a plain gown in a gray color and a brown cloak. Mist hung about in the early morning, and she disappeared around the corner turning into the walk that led to the front door.
Miss Henrietta Jones had arrived. Catherine exhaled and prepared herself for the introduction of her husband’s former lover. She placed herself upon the sofa and took the cravat in hand. In her mind she was the picture of a dutiful wife. She’d had Wells, her maid, dress her hair after her exercise. She had resisted the urge to wear the flowery hairpiece that she had worn to her coming-out and settled on a light blue ribbon instead.
She had never cared for fine things before. She was a simple girl at heart. Perhaps that’s why she never made many friends. She did not have much in common with other girls. Before she met Edward, she had never imagined herself married. She’d thought she would be a spinster, tending to her parents in their later years, as she was their only child. She felt a fleeting pang of homesickness, which was quickly squashed by her jealousy.
The doorbell rang, and Catherine’s heart beat faster, filling her ears with the sound. Footsteps echoed across the hall, Mrs. Moira getting the door, she presumed. Catherine took the needle and thread and held them aloft. She pushed the point through the white linen and tugged. I cannot face her, she thought for a panicked moment. If she is more beautiful or more accomplished, I do not know what I will do! Why did Edward choose me over her? Voices murmured in the hall, and she expected Mrs. Moira to make the introductions any moment now. A lump caught in her throat as she stared at the door.
“Henrietta, I am astonished to see you!” Edward’s voice rang out from behind the door, and Catherine felt her stomach lurch. He called her by her first name! How unseemly! He did not even call her, his wife, by her Christian name.
Apart from that, Edward never came down at this time of day. Why now, of all days, when she had orchestrated her meeting with Miss Jones! She steeled herself before confronting the situation. Her gut told her to run and ignore Emma’s taunts, but an overwhelming feeling urged her to confront this woman. She would not stand aside. She was Edward’s wife, not Henrietta Jones. Though it went against every fiber of her being, Catherine prepared for a confrontation.
The pair entered the parlor together, and Catherine rose to greet them. She forced a smile that she was sure seemed more of a grimace. He walked beside Miss Jones, their shoulders nearly brushing one another. Miss Jones was a beauty, pale and with a round face and large blue eyes. Edward smiled as she had never seen him do before. She hated to admit it, but the pair of them seemed suited for one another. All gumption withered within her.
I am his wife. The voice nagged at her. I should say something.
“Excuse me,” Catherine’s tone was tight, and she colored when the two looked up as if seeing her for the first time. Miss Jones startled and moved away from Edward.
“Darling, you did not tell me that you had invited Miss Jones over. I just happened to be on my way out when we ran into one another.”
“Edward, it was your idea for me to call upon her,” Catherine said with a sweet honeyed voice that sound false to her own ears. “I did not know the pair of you were intimate.” The words fell from her lips, razor sharp. From the corner of her eye, she spotted Miss Jones wincing. I am turning into the cold woman that everyone believes me to be. This is not me at all.
“Dearest, I thought I mentioned it, perhaps it slipped my mind.” He paused, seemingly considering why he would have forgotten, and the confused expression he wore alarmed Catherine. He turned to Miss Jones and made the introductions. “This is my close friend, Henrietta Jones. We were raised like siblings, as her father and mine were officers together.”
“How do you do.” Catherine bobbed her head in her direction and then turned back to Edward. “I am surprised such a charming young woman would slip your mention.” She nodded towards Miss Jones, who nodded in return. Where did these snide remarks come from? She was mortified to address a neighbor thusly, and a close friend of Edwards. Yet, the voice at the back of her head goaded her on. This woman would take your place, given the chance. You must remind her who the mistress of this household is.
“I cannot imagine how.” He smiled at Miss J
ones, who blushed and lowered her eyes.
Catherine balled her hands into fists. He seemed unaware of her crass manners. She may as well not be in the room. Who was this woman? What hold did she have over her husband?
“No. I asked you, I thought, but you never mentioned any female friends,” Catherine insisted. Did he not realize how untoward this was? For him to flaunt his apparent affection for another woman in front of her!
“Strange, I swore I would have mentioned my dearest Henrietta.” The sentiment was not lost on either woman, and they shared a look over Edward’s shoulder, and Catherine was hard-pressed to not glare at Miss Jones.
Miss Jones took the compliment with a graceful wave of her hand, and Catherine hated her all the more for it. “Edward, you have always been kind to me.” Her voice was like honey, sweet and thick, not disingenuous as Catherine’s had been.
Catherine spied her own reflection in a mirror above a table. The ribbon seemed garish and faded compared to the simple straw bonnet Miss Jones wore, and the plain gown gave her a domesticated air that Catherine failed to achieve. She was nothing compared to Miss Jones.
“Please, Henrietta, take a seat. I must hear about your visit to town.” He led her over to a sofa and left Catherine standing beside the entry to the parlor.
A servant entered with the tea things, and Catherine busied her hands preparing refreshments for her guest. Edward sat down on the same sofa as Miss Jones, and the few hands’ space between them was not enough for Catherine’s liking.
“There is not much to tell,” Miss Jones said in response to Edward’s question. “We walked through the park most days, except for when it rained. I attended a few balls and house parties.”
“Edward is throwing a ball for me this Saturday evening. It will be quite remiss if you do not attend.” Catherine said, stressing her own importance in Edward’s life. “Unless you have tired of gaiety,” she added with a forced smile.
“Yes, you must come,” Edward rejoined, and Catherine glared daggers at Miss Jones over his shoulder. She had no desire to have the woman at her ball; she had only asked her to not appear jealous.
Miss Jones looked away and said, “Thank you for the invitation.” And nothing further.
The tension between the three was palpable, and Catherine continued to fidget and felt as if her skin were on fire.
“It appears it may rain,” Miss Jones said with a glance to the window. Outside, the fog blanketed everything, and none of the room’s occupants could see further than beyond the window pane.
Catherine had settled on the sofa across from the pair of them. Edward jumped to his feet upon hearing Miss Jones’ declaration. “You have only just arrived, and we have so much catching up to do.”
“I think it may be best if I left before I overstay my welcome.” She made no physical indication towards Catherine, but she felt the accusation all the same, and Catherine felt ashamed for it. What was wrong with her? When had she become so petty and jealous?
Would Edward see her as such, as well? Catherine turned away, embarrassed that she would be perceived as having made a scene in front of one of the neighbors. This had been an ill-advised venture from the start. What had made her think it would be wise to confront this woman? Catherine decided to do what she was best at; she decided to extricate herself from the situation.
“Please do not trouble yourself on my account. If you wish to stay longer, you are welcome. However, I am more fatigued than I imagined. It may be best if I go and lie down.” Catherine headed for the door.
She hoped Edward would stop her, instead he said, “I think you best, darling; you are still weak after you collapsed yesterday. I will visit with Henrietta in your stead.
She smiled and nodded and could not force her tongue to work. In her selfish plotting she had only drawn her husband to the object of his true affections.
As she closed the parlor doors behind her, she heard Edward say in a hushed voice, “I thought you were to marry Charles. Why did you not tell me sooner?”
Tears gathered along Catherine’s lashes as the picture became quite clear. She had never been Edward’s choice in a wife, merely another option. She ran the rest of the way up the stairs and cared not for what the servants thought of her. She stayed like that the rest of the evening, refusing to let anyone in.
It was late that evening when Edward finally had enough of Catherine’s sulking and came rapping upon the door. Despite her instant pleas that she wished to be left alone, he forced his way into her chamber. Now dressed in her nightclothes, her eyes grew wide as he stormed into her room.
“Tell me now, Catherine, why are you acting so impudently?”
She took a step back and looked at her feet. From the way she avoided his gaze, he knew she was keeping something from him. Is it her lover? he wondered. The charming girl he had met was slipping away day by day, and he began to question why he had married her at all. “I am your husband, and you will answer me when I speak to you!”
“Why should I not be sullen? I have seen before my very eyes that my husband loves another woman.”
Her words rang through his head. True, he had thought little of Henrietta since leaving for Westwood to visit his cousin. The time between leaving and his return with Catherine had been a happy daze, but seeing Henrietta in the hall this afternoon, her cheeks pink from the chill, staring at him with those soulful eyes, it was as if the time apart had been a dream. “What gave you that impression?”
“Your sister told me everything. About how you courted Miss Jones until you fled unexpectedly. How you ran away to Westwood, where you hastily married me to forget all your troubles! It would appear that you thought Miss Jones was to marry another man and you chose me in her stead, as a replacement.”
The truth stung, and he had no words to refute her claims. He had run away to escape the truth that Henrietta had chosen his best friend, Charles, over himself, but he loved Catherine. He had been drawn to her as the moth is to the flame, but now seeing Henrietta again, he began to doubt. The confliction pained him, and he felt a driving need to make Catherine believe in his devotion. He forced her to face him by grabbing her by the shoulders. “That’s not it at all. You were not a replacement, darling. I do love you!” He was convincing himself as well.
“And yet you turn away from me the moment Miss Jones comes around. I am despised here, and I know it is because I am not Miss Jones!” Tears streamed down her face, and she tried to hide her face from her husband. He wanted to growl in frustration. He did love Catherine! Yet he could not deny any of her words. Henrietta had a spell on him that his feelings for Catherine could not dampen.
He withdrew from her, and his brows furrowed. Should he set aside Catherine for Henrietta? If Henrietta was not to marry Charles, there could still be time for them. Coupled with that thought was another. If Catherine had not been faithful, it would be a simple matter of divorce. He spoke next without thinking. “If you are dissatisfied with your life here, then perhaps I should take you back to that hovel in Westwood where I found you and back to your lover.”
She choked and looked up at him with a wide-eyed expression. “Do not turn the tables on me. I have never thought of another man, never considered marriage until you came into my life!” Tears were flowing freely now. “I want you to leave me now, Edward. I am done speaking on this.”
She turned away from him, but he was not finished. He reached out and grabbed her wrist in an attempt to force her to face him. The idea that Catherine had a lover drove him mad. He could not let another man touch her! No man could have her, he realized. He would never set her aside, not for anyone, not even Henrietta. He was too forceful with her in his vehemence to express his devotion. She cried out in pain as he squeezed, and the terrified expression on her face said it all.
He dropped her hand as if it had burned him. He looked down at his own hands, turning them over. “I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me. Forgive me.”
He bowed to her and hurr
ied out of the room. Outside in the hall, Edward grasped at his shoulder where an old pain burned. He could not recall the source of the injury, but the rage he’d felt just then was so uncharacteristic, it scared him. His feelings for the two women had become warped in his mind. He loved them both and felt as if he could not be without either. The thought of Catherine in the arms of another man boiled the wrath within him. No man should touch his darling Catherine, never.
Chapter Ten
After the previous days disastrous results, Catherine spent some time considering how to approach the situation between Miss Jones and herself. Though never before a confrontational woman—indeed, she had been historically non-confrontational, preferring to run away from what displeased her rather than facing it head on—the storming jealousy in her heart would not rest until she had a moment alone with Miss Jones. She wasn’t sure what it was she wanted from the other woman, exactly, some kind of justification for Edward choosing her instead of Miss Jones, perhaps. All she knew was there was a burning need to be better than that woman in some way. That morning, Catherine detoured her morning walk and headed down the lane towards the Joneses.
She rehearsed her greeting, something sweet yet nonthreatening. She wished it to sound like an appeal of friendship. Catherine imagined herself drinking tea in a parlor, which she hoped would be less grand than her own, with maybe touches of wear—like Mama’s parlor back home. She shoved away thoughts of her past and focused on her task. She wanted to hear from Miss Jones’ lips the truth: that Catherine had won, she had married Edward, and Miss Jones stood as no threat to her.
Noon was fast approaching, but the fog still clung to the ground like a white veil. Catherine belatedly wondered if the sun ever shone in this dreary town. The trees encroached upon the road from either side, and long shadows lay across the thick mist. The clip-clop of horse hooves upon the lane broke the silence, and Catherine scurried out of the way as a handsome black carriage, led by a team of four black horses and with a bent man in the driver’s seat, whizzed by.
Those Who Dwell in the Thorns Page 6
