by Cheryl Holt
She led him to the sitting room, and she peeked into the hall to be certain it was empty. He bent down and took a last kiss, then he hurried out and disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER NINE
“What do you think of it?”
“It’s beautiful,” Catherine said.
She was seated in a carriage with Priscilla and staring out the window at Stanton Manor.
The property was located just a few miles from Bolton House, and from the moment they’d turned off the main road the signs of neglect had been obvious. The trees in the orchards hadn’t been pruned and many of them were dead. The gardens weren’t manicured, the grass not scythed.
The house itself had probably once been very grand. It was three stories high, constructed of red brick with black shutters and white trim, and there was ancient ivy growing up the walls. But the windows needed scrubbing, the wood needed paint, and the ivy needed to be cut back.
Leaves littered the drive, and no one had bothered to sweep them away. Either there were few servants at the estate or there were plenty of them, but they weren’t appropriately supervised.
Christopher seemed so tidy and meticulous in his habits and routines, and she couldn’t understand why he’d let conditions decline to such a level. Yet when a person had no money, it was difficult to carry on as one wished. She was living proof of that fact.
He’d been away in the army so his brother had been responsible for any upkeep. Apparently, he hadn’t been concerned about the deterioration. Christopher had been left the burden of restoring it, and she was blatantly confronted with what a tremendous sacrifice he was making for his family by marrying Priscilla.
Despite Priscilla’s opinion of the decrepit mansion, Catherine had already fallen in love with it. She could picture herself residing in it and working hard to refurbish and repair, but she couldn’t imagine Priscilla residing in it a single day.
“It’s not beautiful,” Priscilla scoffed. “It might have been in the past, but it’s definitely not now.”
“It has good bones.”
“What a perfectly ridiculous comment.”
“With a bit of effort, I believe it could be magnificent.”
“You would,” Priscilla huffed. As she gathered up her things, she casually said, “I haven’t mentioned your behavior last night, and I absolutely have to.”
Catherine froze, suddenly terrified that Christopher had been observed as he’d tiptoed out of her room. “What about it?”
“You danced the entire evening without stopping.”
“Oh.” Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Were you angry about it? Your aunt told me I could.”
“I didn’t mind you dancing. The issue is the spectacle of you flaunting yourself.”
“How?”
“You stayed with the same partner. Everyone was gossiping about you.”
It was best to feign innocence. “Why would they gossip? He was very charming, and he kept asking me to remain out on the floor with him. I was happy to.”
“People are wondering if you’re secretly betrothed. Are you?”
“Of course not. That’s silly.”
“Your conduct was outrageous.”
“I apologize. I didn’t realize I had upset you.”
“So I’m putting my foot down. I can’t have a servant who generates gossip.”
“Certainly not.”
“Should you attend a dance with me in the future, you will sit with the wallflowers. You will not join in, and I don’t care what Aunt Gertrude thinks about it.”
Evidently, it was all she intended to say on the topic. A footman opened the door, and she scooted out. Catherine followed her, and they were escorted inside, shedding cloaks and bonnets in the foyer. Then they proceeded into the main parlor. Christopher was seated on a sofa, waiting for them.
She nodded a hello, but discreetly avoided his gaze. She couldn’t bear to tarry with them, to listen while they chatted. She’d practically begged not to accompany Priscilla, but Priscilla had been adamant that she come along. She sidled over to a far corner, determined that Priscilla not notice her discomfort or embarrassment.
Ever since he’d sneaked out of her bedchamber, she’d been trying to rationalize why she’d acquiesced to his visit. Initially, she’d downplayed the event, had convinced herself there was no harm done. She was simply too fond of him so she hadn’t been able to send him away as she should have.
But as he rose to greet them—as he rose to greet his fiancée—she was forced to admit how wrong their actions had been. She couldn’t continue pretending. It had been a horrendous moral lapse, and she couldn’t let it happen again. There was no excuse for it, and she was deeply ashamed.
When they’d arrived, he’d been reading the newspaper, and he was chuckling over one of the articles.
“What has you laughing and talking to yourself?” Priscilla inquired. “I assumed only lunatics behaved that way.”
“I just stumbled on a wedding announcement for an old army friend of mine. He’s getting married again. Alex Wallace? Do you know him?”
Priscilla shook her head. “No.”
“I haven’t thought about him in years, but he was involved in an infamous scandal a decade ago. I haven’t seen him since then.”
“What was the scandal?” Priscilla asked. “Is it too shocking for our tender ears?”
“It was shocking, but with you about to wed, I suppose I can tell you.”
“What about Miss Barrington?” Priscilla drew her into the conversation when she didn’t want to be drawn in. “She’s a spinster and won’t ever be a bride. Is it too shocking for her?”
“She’s made of stern stuff,” he replied. “She can probably handle a risqué story.”
“What is it?” Priscilla urged.
“Alex was married, and while his regiment was in Europe his wife had a passionate affair in London.”
“No!” Priscilla said.
“Yes. And he fought a duel with the cad who’d seduced her.”
“Who was the cad? Was he thrillingly notorious?”
“He was Lord Middlebury’s son. Hayden Henley? You were so young when it occurred you likely wouldn’t remember.”
Catherine had been trying to ignore them, but his tale had her so stunned she couldn’t breathe.
Lord Middlebury was her father. Hayden was her brother. He’d fought a duel? With a soldier named Alex Wallace? How could that be? If he’d engaged in such a disturbing escapade, wouldn’t she have been apprised? London was a cauldron of vicious rumors. Wouldn’t someone have been delighted to notify her?
She peered over at Christopher, but didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Hayden Henley was in a duel? Was it Viscount Henley? Is that who you mean?”
“Yes,” Christopher said. “Was he an acquaintance of yours?”
“Ah…no. I’ve heard of the family though, but not about this incident. What was the result? Were they injured or did they simply aim high and miss each other?”
“It was very real. Alex was incredibly angry, and he shot Viscount Henley right in the chest.”
She was so startled that she blanched. She struggled to calm herself, being desperate to pry out all the details, but not keen to act overly interested.
“Are you sure that’s what happened?” she said.
“Oh, yes. Alex got in enormous trouble for it. He was jailed, then banished from England for a time. He was kicked out of the army too.”
“And…Viscount Henley?” she wanly asked.
“He barely survived, and to evade his being arrested as well, his parents whisked him out of the country.”
“Where is he now?” She posed the question even though she knew the answer. “What became of him?”
“I’m not certain. I was shipped off to the Caribbean so I wasn’t privy to how it concluded. I figured he’d ultimately returned to Middlebury, but I recently heard that a co
usin inherited so perhaps Henley didn’t survive after all.”
Priscilla butted in to talk about the house, and Catherine slid into the nearest chair, her mind frantically sorting through the information he’d imparted.
She’d been fourteen and still in school, attending Miss Peabody’s with Abigail and Sarah. Their father had been an important man in the government, and her mother had visited to tell them he’d been called away on a sensitive diplomatic mission to Rome. They were taking Hayden with them.
The news had forced her and her sisters to board at school for an entire year without a single holiday. They’d groused and complained, being jealous that Hayden had been permitted a journey to Italy, and they hadn’t. Then her parents and Hayden had been killed on the trip back. Just that fast—without warning—their world had been ripped to pieces.
Miss Peabody had summoned them to her office and gave them a letter that described the catastrophe. She and her sisters had traveled to Middlebury for a few weeks to plan a memorial, but once their father’s Will was read, Jasper and his wife, Desdemona, had moved to the estate and promptly announced it was bankrupt and there was no money for any continued support.
They weren’t the first girls at Miss Peabody’s to suffer a fiscal calamity. Abigail graduated, and Miss Peabody helped her find a job at Mrs. Ford’s agency. Luckily, their father had already paid Catherine’s and Sarah’s tuition so they’d finished their education and had gone to Mrs. Ford too.
After that traumatic event, it had been a decade of dashed hopes and lowered expectations. They should have all been married to lofty gentleman from the best families. They should have had children and homes of their own, but none of it had transpired.
And all because Hayden had seduced a married woman? She couldn’t believe it.
Hayden had been twenty when he’d left for Rome, and her memories of him were that he’d been wonderful, their kind, funny, doting brother, and everyone had loved him.
He’d been a perfect son whom their parents had adored. In her whole life, she couldn’t remember him even arguing with her parents or getting himself into trouble over some mischief.
How could Christopher’s story be true? It made no sense, and she yearned to race to London, to locate Sarah and Abigail and tell them what she’d learned. Might Abigail have been apprised? She was the oldest. Maybe she’d been supplied with secrets their mother hadn’t shared with her younger daughters.
“Catherine!”
Priscilla’s sharp voice yanked her out of her reverie. “I apologize, but I was woolgathering. What did you say?”
“I swear you are the most distracted person who ever lived.”
“Sorry,” she muttered. She frowned down at the rug as if she was embarrassed.
“Are you all right, Miss Barrington?” Christopher asked. “All of a sudden, you look a tad distressed.”
Catherine was saved from responding by Priscilla. “She’s all right. She pulls this stunt all the time, acting as if she’s flagging, then she begs to lie down and rest. She just didn’t want to accompany me, though I can’t imagine why. She offered up a dozen excuses to avoid it.”
Catherine peeked up, and he might have defended her which she couldn’t abide. “She’s correct, Mr. Stanton. I’ve been feeling lazy all day and trying to shirk my duties.”
“Really?” he sarcastically inquired. “You confess to being as inept as she claims?”
“Yes, I can be a terrible sluggard.”
“At least you admit it,” Priscilla said. “Let’s walk through the house. I’m particularly eager to see the upper floors.”
She swept out, and Catherine pushed herself to her feet. He was standing by the sofa and watching her intently.
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Truly.”
He might have replied, but Priscilla called from the foyer, “Catherine! Come!”
Catherine hurried out, but he didn’t follow her. It appeared he wasn’t joining them, and it was an incredible boon. If she’d been forced to tag after him, to observe as he’d chatted with Priscilla about their approaching nuptials, she couldn’t predict how she might have behaved.
The next few hours passed in a blur, and she kept busy by taking notes. She’d brought a small tablet and jotted down pertinent comments about color schemes and room design. The problems seemed minor to her and involved upgrades to cosmetic details such as paint and drapes. A scrupulous scrubbing and coat of polish wouldn’t hurt either. The place would be good as new.
But Priscilla was accustomed to having the latest, most expensive items money could buy, and she was very fussy. She found fault at every turn.
With each step, Catherine grew more disconcerted. It was disturbing to snoop in Christopher’s bedrooms. Priscilla even yanked open a wardrobe, and Christopher’s shirts were hanging in it. It was such an invasion of his privacy, and it had been wrong, wrong, wrong for Catherine to view them.
Christopher’s dreadful tale about Hayden was dumped on top of it all, leaving her so disoriented that she was nauseous. She staggered along as Priscilla obtusely chattered away over her plans to remodel. The fact that Christopher had told her there would be no remodel hadn’t stopped her. She was determined to proceed and didn’t care what he thought.
The whole charade of them marrying was bizarre. They were so incompatible, and the realization made Catherine even more miserable. She could have made him so happy! Instead, he’d chosen a life of bickering and spite.
She didn’t understand men. She didn’t understand the world. She didn’t understand anything.
Finally, the torture ceased. Priscilla declared herself bored, and they headed to the front door to retrieve their cloaks and bonnets. Christopher was nowhere in sight which was very rude and aggravated Priscilla to her limit. Catherine could have explained his absence, but she didn’t dare.
They went out to the carriage and climbed in. After they rolled down the drive, Priscilla complained, “That is the draftiest, coldest, gloomiest building I’ve ever seen.”
“I liked it.”
“You would, Catherine, but you don’t know a thing about quality.”
“You’re correct, I don’t,” Catherine blithely agreed.
“Kit might think we’ll reside there, but he needs to think again.”
“He seemed proud of it to me.”
“He’s stupidly proud of it, but with how dilapidated it is there’s no reason for him to exhibit any conceit.”
“I doubt he’d like to be apprised of how much you hated it. If I were you, I’d be cautious about any denigration. It would upset him, and then you’d quarrel.”
“He can be as upset as he likes, but I will not live there, and he has to start adjusting to the idea. I believe I’ll ask Father to purchase another one.”
“Another what? A different house?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I request it? Father spoils me, and Kit is aware of my expensive tastes. He shouldn’t be surprised if I demand better.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s a perfectly brilliant notion.” Catherine hid her sarcasm.
“I should have figured it out long ago,” Priscilla mused.
“I’m positive—after you clarify the situation for Mr. Stanton—he’ll absolutely concur with your assessment.”
“It doesn’t matter if he concurs, Catherine. I always get my way, and I will in this too.”
Catherine sighed, pondering the calamity approaching for all concerned, and she tugged on the curtain and gazed out the window until they arrived at Bolton House.
* * * *
“What did you discover?”
“Nothing that helps us at all.”
Abigail Henley Wallace was seated at the writing desk in her boudoir at her home of Wallace Downs. She glared at her husband, Alex, and grumbled with frustration.
They’d married on the spur of the moment with a Special License so there had been no time to invite any guests or place announcem
ents in the newspapers.
Actually, they’d been deliberate in not notifying anyone. In light of their past tragedies and scandals, neither of them had a lot of friends. Nor had they hoards of relatives they would have liked to include in any celebration. The majority of their kin was deceased, had disavowed them, or was too wicked or too disreputable or too unpleasant for them to wish for any continuing contact.
And of course, Alex was likely the most notorious man in the kingdom so their circumstances were interesting to say the least.
Yet when she’d agreed to their hasty, impromptu ceremony, he’d promised she could have a church wedding later on. She was holding him to that promise, and preparations were bustling along at a fast clip.
She was anxious to locate her sisters, Sarah and Catherine, so they could attend. Her whirlwind romance with Alex had occurred so quickly that she hadn’t had the opportunity to tell them that she’d fallen in love and had wed without warning. They would be shocked, but once they met him they would be so happy for her.
She had other motives for wanting to find them. Alex was very rich so they could quit working and move to Wallace Downs. Finally—finally!—their lives were about to improve.
They might even have dowries squirreled away—despite what her cousin, Jasper, had claimed. Alex had a team of lawyers scouring her father’s probate records to learn if Jasper had been lying about their supposedly squandered inheritances.
Mostly, she couldn’t wait to confide that they had two nieces, Mary and Millie Henley Wallace. They’d been sired by her brother, Hayden, before he died, having been conceived during an affair Hayden had pursued with Alex’s first wife.
When Abigail had initially been hired by Alex to be their governess, she hadn’t known about the affair or that she had two nieces. She hadn’t known Alex and Hayden had fought a duel. Her parents and Hayden had passed away prior to any of their secrets being revealed.
She and her sisters had worshiped Hayden, and he had left his daughters for them to raise and cherish. But…she couldn’t find Sarah or Catherine.
After Abigail had begun her amour with Alex, she’d had a breach with Mrs. Ford and had been fired by the persnickety woman. Mrs. Ford had recently assigned Sarah and Catherine to new posts, and she refused to provide any information as to their whereabouts.
