Forever Mine (The Forever Series #2)

by Cheryl Holt

  Because of Abigail’s illicit behavior with Alex, Mrs. Ford deemed her to be a Jezebel. She might have fired Abigail’s sisters in retaliation for her moral lapse, and if she had, then Sarah and Catherine were alone in London, unemployed, penniless, and perhaps in peril.

  Alex had just returned from town where he’d run advertisements in the newspapers so they might hear that she was hunting for them.

  “Were you able to speak with Mrs. Ford?” she asked him.

  “No. I stopped by a half-dozen times, and the old bat always managed to be conveniently away.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I figured she was there, but simply cowering under her desk so my last visit I kicked in her door to check.”

  “You didn’t,” she scolded.

  “I did, but she really was away. Her clerk hadn’t been deceiving me.”

  Alex was renowned for his temper and overreaction to aggravating situations. Since he’d wed Abigail, his conduct had calmed considerably. She was already having a beneficial effect, but he remained a handful, and they had a long way to go.

  “What now?” she inquired. “How should we proceed?”

  “I stationed a man outside her office, and he’ll watch for her and try to get some answers.”

  “She can be so recalcitrant. What if she won’t help us?”

  “I’ve instructed him to break in some night and snoop in her files.”

  “No,” she scoffed.

  “Yes.”

  “On occasion, I don’t know what to think about you.”

  “How badly are you hoping to locate your sisters?”

  “Very badly.”

  He shrugged. “Then I will do whatever it takes to give you what you desire.”

  “I’m so afraid they’re on the streets and in jeopardy.”

  She herself had had severe difficulties in London before Alex had brought her home to Wallace Downs. She would hate to have her sisters suffer as she had suffered, particularly when they didn’t have a knight in shining armor like Alex to protect them.

  “If they’re on the streets,” he said, “the search will become trickier, but we will succeed. I swear it to you.”

  “Don’t swear.”

  “All right, I won’t swear. I promise.”

  “That’s better.” She grinned. “In the meantime, I’ll write to Jasper. Maybe they’ve contacted him.”

  They didn’t have the best rapport with their cousin, but Jasper was the head of their family. He wouldn’t like a hideous incident to occur where their names might be bandied by gossips. He generated enough notoriety on his own with his gambling and philandering.

  She and her sisters had an emergency plan that—should they experience problems and need assistance—they would pen a letter to Abigail in care of Jasper.

  “Would he tell you if he’s heard from them?” Alex asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What if he’s gotten wind of my investigation into your father’s bequests?”

  “Let’s pray he hasn’t because I’m sending him an invitation to the wedding.”

  Alex wrinkled his nose. “Must you?”

  “Yes, I must.”

  “He won’t attend, will he? I don’t want to look out into the church pews during the ceremony and see people I loathe.”

  He had significant issues with those who’d been awful to him. After his duel with Hayden, his world had fallen apart. He’d been a rich, landed gentleman with hundreds of friends and acquaintances, but hardly any of them had stood by him after his troubles began.

  He’d been slow in forgiving. It was a concern they were working on. She was determined to fix what was wrong in his life.

  “I’m inviting him,” she firmly stated. “It’s only proper.”

  “You’re aware of my opinion about propriety.”

  “Yes, and you’re aware of mine.”

  “You’re too honorable.”

  “And you’re too dishonorable,” she retorted, “but I’ll have you whipped into shape in no time.”

  He snorted with amusement. “Good luck, Mrs. Wallace. I know you like a challenge.”

  He leaned down and kissed her, then he started out.

  “Where are you off to?” she asked.

  “Mary and Millie have a riding lesson so I thought I’d observe and offer my advice.”

  Mary and Millie weren’t actually his daughters, but they were conceived while he was married to his wife so the Church and the law deemed him to be their father—even though he wasn’t. Initially, he’d had an awkward relationship with them, but it was another area where he was changing and changing fast.

  He’d become the most overbearing and exasperatingly proud parent who’d ever lived.

  “If you must watch their lesson,” she told him, “don’t be annoying.”

  He huffed with affront. “When am I ever?”

  “How about always? You constantly interfere and interrupt. Their instructor has confessed to me that you’re a nuisance, and he wishes you’d stay away and mind your own business.”

  “I’m paying him a fortune so he can deal with my interference or he can get a job somewhere else.” He paused, then said, “I ought to teach them myself. I’m a better horseman than anyone.”

  He’d been a soldier for years so the comment was definitely true. He was an excellent equestrian, but she doubted he’d have much patience for telling two little girls how to spread their skirts over the pommel on their side saddles.

  “Don’t you dare send him packing. He’s fine.”

  “Says you,” he groused.

  “Yes, says me.”

  They smiled, his affection wafting out. He’d picked her out of every female in the kingdom. He’d rescued her. He’d saved her. He loved her, and she was so glad.

  “Go.” She waved him away.

  “I will. For now. But I’ll be back soon.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Catherine had emptied her bag and was putting away her clothes when a housemaid interrupted to summon her to Priscilla’s bedchamber.

  They were back in London, the last two days at Bolton House passing with no further drama or upheaval. They had hosted no other parties or guests. Christopher hadn’t stopped by to visit his fiancée. He hadn’t sneaked to Catherine’s room.

  By the time Wednesday morning had rolled around, they were bored and eager to head for the city. Mr. Bolton had already gone, finding the country to be enormously tedious.

  “Must I come immediately?” she asked the housemaid.

  “Yes, Miss Priscilla said immediately.”

  Catherine tamped down her aggravation. “Tell her I’ll be right there.”

  The girl left, and Catherine sat down on the bed.

  She’d been trapped in a carriage for hours with Priscilla and Gertrude, and she’d barely had a minute to catch her breath. It was late, and she was grouchy and out of sorts and simply wanted to crawl into bed.

  Her bedchamber was tucked behind the kitchen at the rear of the mansion. It was tiny, but functional with a bed, dresser, and chair, but she didn’t mind the limited space that had been supplied.

  Often, she was forced to share a room with the other female servants, especially if there was a nanny or governess in residence too so her situation could have been much worse.

  Plus, there was hot water in a reservoir by the stove so it was easy to wash up at night, easy to carry a bucket back and forth. And occasionally, she was able to pilfer a snack—the housekeeper had whispered that she could so long as she wasn’t observed—and Catherine frequently availed herself of the courtesy.

  She’d never worked anywhere where the employer had been concerned as to whether she might be hungry, and she was grateful for the kindness. Over the past decade, she hadn’t witnessed much compassion.

  She straightened her hair, and the temperature was chilly so she grabbed a shawl. She
walked down various halls to the stairs that would take her to the upper floors where the family’s bedchambers were located.

  Before she could begin to climb, the front door opened, and Libby bustled in. She hadn’t been home when they’d arrived, and Catherine silently glared at her as she removed her cloak and bonnet and hung them on a hook. She hadn’t noticed Catherine watching her until she spun around.

  “Catherine!” She smiled as if they were old friends. “I forgot you were scheduled to return today.”

  “We got back a bit ago. Where have you been?”

  “Here and there,” Libby vaguely replied. “I had…an appointment. How was the country?”

  “It was interesting.”

  “Bolton House is quite a monstrosity, isn’t it?”

  “No. It was very beautiful.” In case a servant was eavesdropping, Catherine was determined to be heard complimenting the property.

  “How were Priscilla and Gertrude?” Libby asked. “Were they bickering the whole time?”

  Catherine frowned, perplexed that Libby could be so nonchalant. She had to realize Catherine would have met Kit Stanton.

  “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?” she inquired.

  “No, not really.”

  “You can’t think of a single topic we might need to address?”

  “No.”

  “Let me refresh your memory.”

  She dragged Libby into a parlor and shut the door, then she led her across the room so no one could spy through the keyhole.

  “When I went to Vauxhall with you,” Catherine said, “I involved myself in a petty flirtation with Christopher Wakefield.”

  “Oh.”

  “You knew he was Kit Stanton, and he’s engaged to Priscilla.”

  Libby shrugged. “Yes.”

  “You allowed me to socialize with him anyway.”

  “You’re an adult, Catherine. It’s not my business to monitor how you act.”

  “You might have warned me.”

  “About what? About his being a libertine? I specifically remember apprising you that he wasn’t who he seemed and you ought to be careful.”

  “Were the two of you scheming against me? Was it humorous for you to discover if he could ruin me? Were you hoping to humiliate me? Shame me? What was your ploy? I’m so curious.”

  “I had no ploy,” Libby huffed. “Kit is an adult too, and he’s perfectly capable of picking his own companions. He doesn’t need any advice from me, and if I tried to give him some he’d tell me to stuff it.”

  “You didn’t inform him that I worked for Priscilla?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Why would you?” Catherine sputtered. “If you’d bothered to enlighten him, or if you’d bothered to enlighten me, it would have saved me an enormous amount of mortification. It was definitely a shock when Priscilla introduced us.”

  “Why? Were you growing smitten? Were you supposing you might have him for your own? It’s what you’re implying.”

  “No!” Catherine vehemently insisted. “I just…liked him. I believed he was an unattached bachelor.”

  “He’s barely a bachelor, and he’s certainly a roué. I remind you again: Be careful around him.”

  “What’s your relationship to him? You were whispering together that day at the picnic. Were you talking about me and tittering over what a fool I am?”

  Libby’s expression oozed sympathy. “Catherine, I don’t mean to hurt you, but trust me on this. You’re not the only girl he’s ever seduced. I see him out and about all the time. He and I have an agreement about it.”

  “What agreement?”

  “He doesn’t tattle about what I do, and I don’t tattle about what he does.”

  “You live with the Boltons, Libby. They feed you and keep a roof over your head. Have you no loyalty to Priscilla? Shouldn’t you warn her as to what he’s really like?”

  “Warn Priscilla about her fiancé?” She scoffed. “You’re joking, aren’t you? I’m not Kit’s nanny, and I have no authority over him or how he behaves. And why would I notify Priscilla about his philandering? She’d shoot the messenger.”

  “Fine, I understand your position with regard to Priscilla, but what about me? Didn’t it ever occur to you that it might be beneficial for me to learn his true identity?”

  “Yes, but you were enjoying yourself, and I hated to wreck your fun. You and I have so little of it.”

  “You didn’t wreck my fun, but you’ve left me in an untenable bind.”

  “You’re sweet on Priscilla’s betrothed, and somehow that’s my fault?”

  “I’m not sweet on him! I’m hideously embarrassed! I shouldn’t be within a hundred yards of him, yet she expects me to chaperone her whenever they go out.”

  Libby laughed. “You’re in a pickle, aren’t you?”

  “I thought we were friends, Libby.”

  “We are.”

  “No, we’re not. I can’t imagine treating someone as you’ve treated me. If you don’t grasp how this wounded me, I can’t explain it. There’s something missing in you.”

  “Why would you think that? I’m confused about why you’re blaming me. Kit is a cheating pig, and you’re a lonely spinster who was infatuated. He ensnared you in his web, and you’re stuck in a way that you don’t like. If you’re so worried about Priscilla and the character of the rogue she’s marrying, you tell her what he’s like. I dare you.”

  Catherine gaped at Libby, wondering how they could have ever been cordial. Catherine had viewed her as a kindred spirit, as a vivacious breath of fresh air in the stifling Bolton household.

  But there had been that quiet word of caution imparted weeks earlier by a housemaid that she should watch out for Libby. Catherine hadn’t listened and had decided to reach her own conclusion. Well, the conclusion had been reached.

  “I won’t tell Priscilla,” Catherine said. “I never could.”

  “What about you and Kit?”

  “There is no me and Kit. I’m desperately swimming upstream, trying to deduce how I can extricate myself from this debacle.”

  “There’s a dance at Vauxhall on Saturday. I’m sure Kit will be there. Would you like to come with me?”

  “Come with you—to another dance?” Catherine was practically dizzy with offense. “No, I won’t go anywhere with you ever again. My reputation matters too much to me.”

  “Women always claim that, but it’s surprising how quickly they’ll toss away everything for a handsome swain.”

  “I would never throw away my reputation. Not for any man.”

  “We’ll see how thoroughly Kit has corrupted you. You’ll never completely escape his clutches.”

  “You’re deranged, Libby. I really believe you might be.”

  “I’m not deranged. I’m brave, brave enough to grab for what I want.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Catherine asked. “You’re grabbing for what?”

  “A husband.”

  “By sneaking off in the woods with seedy cads?”

  “Yes. I don’t have any parents to plan my future, and Mr. Bolton certainly never will. I have to take care of myself.”

  “Good luck,” Catherine sarcastically said. “I’m sure you’ll make a brilliant match on your own.”

  She pushed by Libby and walked out to the foyer. Priscilla was at the top of the stairs and in an obvious temper.

  “There you are! Finally! I sent for you hours ago.”

  It had only been a few minutes, but Catherine would never argue the point. “Libby and I were talking about how much I enjoyed our sojourn at Bolton House.”

  Libby approached and stood next to Catherine. Slyly, she said, “Catherine loved the place. She particularly liked some of the neighbors.”

  Catherine flashed a hot glare at Libby to be silent, as Priscilla snapped, “Catherine’s opinions about Bolton House are irrelevant. Nor am I interested in yours, Libby.”
She gestured to Catherine. “Get up here. I’m tired of waiting for you.”

  “Yes, I’m coming,” Catherine replied, but Priscilla had already stormed off.

  Libby leaned in and whispered, “Don’t forget to tell her about Kit.”

  “Shut up, Libby.”

  Catherine tromped up the stairs, feeling as if she was marching to the gallows. She caught up with Priscilla in her sitting room. The maids were there, unpacking her trunks, and she was loafing on the sofa and nibbling on a tray of bread and cheese.

  They’d rolled in too late for supper to be served, and Catherine was starving. Her tummy growled with hunger. Not that Priscilla noticed.

  “I have exciting news,” Priscilla said.

  “What is it?”

  “Kit has decided to follow us to London.”

  Catherine kept her expression blank. “Has he? How nice for you.”

  “In fact, he’ll be staying with us for several days, starting tomorrow.”

  In light of her abiding fondness for him, it was the cruelest announcement ever.

  “He’ll be staying here? With us?”

  “Yes. He’ll arrive tomorrow night so we have to shop in the morning. He didn’t want to travel to town, but I insisted he join me. Since he’s relented and will oblige me after all, I will reward him by looking especially beautiful.”

  “Yes, of course we can shop, but could I ask a favor?”

  “No.”

  Despite Priscilla’s response, she continued on. She was usually free on Wednesday afternoons, but she’d worked the prior two as they’d trekked to and from the country. She was anxious to visit Mrs. Ford, to inform her she needed to be reassigned, to question her about Sarah and Abigail.

  “I missed my afternoon off, and I have some important errands to run. Might I have an hour to myself so I can finish them?”

  “Absolutely not. Is it my fault you don’t manage your time wisely? Besides, no matter how vital your errands, nothing could be more imperative than your helping me shop for the perfect gown. We’ll leave at ten.”

  Priscilla began eating again, ignoring Catherine as if she wasn’t present. Catherine hovered in front of her, feeling like a serf, like a scullery maid, like a dog in the yard. Her rage soared to an unbearable height.