by Cheryl Holt
She didn’t care about Mr. Stanton anymore. He was in the past, and she was struggling to devise a path to the future. His relationship with Libby—or any female—was so low on her list of concerns that she couldn’t fathom why Libby would presume it mattered.
“You came all this way to inform me?” she finally inquired.
“Yes. You fancied him, and I hurt you.”
“Why did you?”
“Gertrude made me. I was in such trouble with her, and I was being sent away in disgrace. I was terrified she might lock me in a convent so I wasn’t thinking straight. She told me—she ordered me—if you ever asked me about Kit, I had to lie. So, like the coward I am, I deceived you, but I never had a flirtation with him. He and I are barely acquainted.”
“Really?”
“Yes, he visited the Boltons on occasion, and I’d see him at Vauxhall when he shouldn’t have been in London, but he thought I was a nuisance. I was like a pesky little sister to him. He even slipped me pin money as an allowance, but we weren’t friends. We weren’t anything.”
“You were ruined though, weren’t you?”
“But not by him.”
“Was it that Mr. Swift?”
“Yes.”
Should she believe Libby? After so much time had passed, there was no reason for her to invent a story about Mr. Stanton, and there was certainly no reason to travel such a distance merely to tender a confession.
“Gertrude was anxious to guarantee you left and never came back,” Libby said.
“She got her wish.”
“She worried you were in love with Kit—I suspected it too—and she was afraid you wouldn’t abandon him without a fight.”
“It turned out to be a lot easier than I anticipated.”
“She was convinced he wouldn’t abandon you either, and she had to drive a wedge between you that couldn’t be repaired.”
“She succeeded.”
“Have you seen him since then?”
“No,” Catherine fibbed.
“Well, in case you do, I had to be sure I told you. He’s a fine man, Catherine. You didn’t always observe him at his best, but if he should ever track you down and try to redeem himself you should give him another chance.”
“I doubt we’ll ever cross paths, but I appreciate the sentiment.”
“I’m so happy now with Mr. Turner, and I hate to picture you all alone. I’m positive he’ll never wed Priscilla, and I’d like it if he ended up with you instead.”
“There’s such a fortune at stake. He’d never walk away from it or her. No sane man would.”
“Well, if he jilts her, and if you ever bump into him, please don’t condemn him because of my lies. It’s been eating me alive, recollecting how I wounded you. I couldn’t leave England without apologizing. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s good of you to say so.”
“Will you ever be able to forgive me? I wouldn’t expect it to happen right away, but it would provide me with peace of mind to know you might reflect kindly on me in the future. I’ll be so far away, and it would comfort me to have someone in England remember me fondly.”
It was such a pretty speech. Tears dampened Libby’s eyes, and she looked ashamed in a fashion Catherine couldn’t have envisioned her being. Perhaps her recent tribulations had rendered some much-needed maturity.
“Are you having a baby, Libby?”
“No, it was a false alarm. Actually, I never engaged in conduct that would have made it occur, but I was too naïve to realize it.” Libby peeked down Catherine’s torso. “How about you?”
“Me? No. Mr. Stanton and I never had that type of relationship.” It was a simple fabrication. She didn’t even have to glance away. “He and I were just friendly.”
“I can’t bear to imagine him shackled to Priscilla so I hope he seeks you out. I hope he marries you. I’ll always hope for it.”
“You’re a dreamer, Libby, and I’m glad to hear that you’ll think of me when you’re away. I’ll think of you too.”
Their conversation dwindled. They smiled and stared, cataloguing features, then eventually Libby said, “I should get back to Bentley.”
She took Catherine’s arm again, and they strolled to the carriage.
“How did you learn where I was staying?” Catherine asked. “How did you discover my name and whereabouts?”
“Mr. Bolton mentioned it in a letter to Bentley.”
“How did he find out?”
“Apparently, there was some sort of incident with Kit.”
Her stupid pulse raced. “Was he in an accident? Was he hurt?”
“No, it was more along the lines of a terrible quarrel. I haven’t pressed Bentley for details. In light of my behavior in Mr. Bolton’s home, I decided I shouldn’t pry.”
“You might be growing up, Libby.”
“I might be.”
“Mr. Turner is having a positive effect.”
She snorted with amusement. “That’s what he keeps telling me.”
“And America will be a grand adventure. It might deliver some of the excitement you’ve been chasing.”
“Bentley keeps telling me that too.”
They reached the vehicle, and Mr. Turner helped her in. Then he climbed in too. Catherine closed the door and stepped away as Libby peered out the window and said, “I wish I’d been a better friend to you in London.”
“You were good enough. We were both laboring under difficult circumstances.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “Write to me—often. Let me know about the journey, but also about what it’s like once you’re there. I’d be delighted to correspond.”
“Does that mean I might be forgiven someday?” Libby asked.
“You already have been.”
Mr. Turner rapped on the roof, the driver cracked the whip, and the horses pulled away.
“Goodbye,” Libby called.
“Goodbye,” Catherine called too. “Write to me! Don’t forget!”
“I won’t!”
Libby shouted something else, but the rattle of the carriage swallowed up her words, and it disappeared around the bend. Catherine stood, gaping at the spot where it had been.
Life was strange, she thought.
Quiet, unassuming Mr. Turner had given Libby precisely what she’d needed. Libby had become kind and generous. Mr. Stanton might not be the horrid cad Catherine had deemed him to be. Maybe she could relinquish some of her anger and shame. His minimal redemption didn’t matter though. He was still marrying Priscilla, and Catherine was still alone and in a great deal of trouble.
She sighed and continued on home.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“Aunt Catherine?”
“Yes?”
Catherine turned to see her nieces, Mary and Millie, at her bedchamber door. When her brother, Hayden, had died, had he known he was destined to be a father? Had her parents known?
With her parents whisking Hayden out of the country, she had to suppose they hadn’t been aware that the twins were on the way. She liked to think they would have stayed in England and faced the scandal for the sake of Hayden’s daughters, that they would have brought them to Middlebury and raised them there. But who could be sure?
Whenever Catherine ruminated over her own desperate plight, she always conveniently forgot that Mary and Millie were now part of her life. They would eventually learn about Catherine’s disgrace. What sort of aunt was she? What sort of role model?
“What is it, girls?” she asked.
“Aunt Abigail sent us to fetch you to the front parlor,” Mary said.
Catherine forced a smile. “Tell her I’ll be right down.”
“We will.”
They scampered off, and Catherine walked into her dressing room and studied herself in the mirror. She was still pale, but she didn’t appear quite as wretched as she had when she’d initially arrived. By simply recognizing her condition, she’d done wonders to
improve her health. She wasn’t about to perish from a mysterious disease. She was merely having a baby.
It happened to women every day.
What could Abigail want? She didn’t imagine it would be for any purpose she cared to discuss. It would be about the steps that had to be taken as they went forward.
Matrimony was the cure for what ailed her, and Alex had been away in town—without explanation. She fervidly hoped he hadn’t scrounged up an old army chum who might be willing to marry her on the spur of the moment. If that was their plan, she’d expire from mortification.
She was determined to look her best for the conversation. She hated to feel weak, like such a victim. She pulled a brush through her hair and tied it with a ribbon then, ready for anything, she spun and headed downstairs.
To her surprise, Alex was back, and he and Abigail were standing outside the parlor and gazing at her strangely. The twins were nowhere in sight so, whatever was about to occur, they hadn’t been inclined to let the children witness it.
Abigail spoke first. “This wasn’t my idea, but when my husband”—she glared at him—“gets fixated on a crazed notion there’s no dissuading him.”
Alex scoffed. “It’s not a crazed notion, Abigail, and don’t scare her.”
“I’m not scaring her,” Abigail said. “I just don’t intend to have her blame me when it all blows up into a big catastrophe.”
“What are you talking about?” Catherine asked.
“I’m locking you in.”
Alex strutted over and escorted her to the parlor door.
“You’re what?”
“I’m locking you in, and I won’t release you until we reach the sole conclusion I will accept.”
Catherine glanced at Abigail, and her sister shrugged. “It’s pointless to argue with him. You can’t win.”
“I won’t argue with him,” Catherine said, “but what’s going on?”
Alex responded, “I will keep the key in my pocket so I’m the only one who can free you. Despite how upset you are, don’t beg Abigail for help. She won’t be able to assist you.”
“All right.” Catherine glanced at her sister again, but received no hint of what was transpiring.
“If it takes a week,” Alex continued, “if it takes a month, that’s how long I’ll wait. I can be very patient when the circumstances call for it. Just knock when you have the correct answer for me.”
He shoved her into the room, then yanked the door closed. The key grated in the lock, and as she turned to survey her surroundings she was stunned by what she observed.
Mr. Stanton was seated on a sofa and drinking liquor. He was completely relaxed as if he didn’t have a concern in the world, and she viewed it as being typical that she would have been fretting and overwhelmed by shame and remorse while he’d been suffering no ill effects at all.
The only odd change she could discern was that he had an impressive black eye. Obviously, he’d been punched very hard, and it had to hurt like the devil.
“What are you doing here?” she snapped. “The last time you inflicted yourself on me, I could have sworn I was clear that you should never bother me again.”
“Your brother-in-law had a different opinion.”
“Is he the one who blackened your eye?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll have to remember to thank him.” She whipped away and marched to the door. She banged on the wood and shouted, “Alex, let me out! I won’t talk to him!”
“Yes, you will,” Alex maddeningly replied from the other side. “I suggest you get to it. I realize I said I’d tarry for weeks while you resolve this, but in light of your condition, I don’t believe we have weeks to dicker.”
Evidently, her brother-in-law was laboring under the delusion that Catherine and Mr. Stanton would agree to wed with a bit of coercion. He must have dragged Mr. Stanton to Wallace Downs against his will, the bruised eye being proof of how vehemently Mr. Stanton had been opposed to the idea.
She whirled away which meant she was staring at Mr. Stanton again.
“Shall I pour you a glass of wine?’ he inquired. “You definitely look as if you could use one.”
“Shut up, Mr. Stanton. I won’t be lectured by you as to what I can use and what I can’t.”
“Well, I’d enjoy another whiskey myself.” He downed the contents of his libation, then pushed himself to his feet and plodded to the sideboard. At the movement, he winced and grabbed his ribs as if he was in pain.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Might I hope you’re injured?”
“Your brother-in-law has a vicious right hook although—in my own defense—I didn’t fight back. I thought I deserved a thrashing.”
“Alex thrashed you for me?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
This was sounding better and better, and the amount of pleasure she received from the prospect was shocking. She wondered if she didn’t have some deeply-buried bloodthirsty tendencies.
He filled his glass and gulped down the liquor, then he spun to face her.
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? Alex seemed to think we have an important issue to discuss.”
“Alex is wrong.”
“Is he?”
“Yes,” she lied. “All I wanted was for him to beat you to a pulp.”
“You should be happy then. He did an excellent job of it.”
“How’s Priscilla?” She wasn’t interested in the horrid girl, but she wasn’t about to make the conversation easy for him.
“I suppose she’s fine,” he claimed.
“Don’t you know? She’s your betrothed. You should be in town dancing attendance on her. Isn’t money all you care about? It’s risky for you to be dawdling here with me. What if the Boltons found out? Priscilla might cry off, and you’d lose your fortune.”
“Oh, that.” He waved it away as if it were of no account. “It’s lost to me already, but then I shouldn’t have involved myself in Mr. Bolton’s nonsense.”
“All that money was nonsense?”
“Yes, it was simply bait on his part. He was eager to be shed of her, and I was the only dolt he could find who would take her off his hands. But I couldn’t be the son-in-law he needed.”
“I feel so dreadfully sorry for you,” she mockingly retorted. “It must have been terrible, being engaged to your rich cousin and marching down the sweet path to prosperity.”
“It was pretty bad. How long are you planning to be angry?”
“Forever.”
“That’s a long time.”
He slammed his empty glass down on the sideboard, firmly enough that she was surprised it didn’t shatter. Then he stomped over to her, and he approached until they were toe to toe. She understood he was trying to intimidate her with his superior size and bristling masculinity that practically oozed out of him.
Yet she didn’t back away. He was much taller than she was, and with her being constantly dizzy anyway, it was difficult to glare up at him. It kept her off balance in more ways than one, but she wasn’t afraid of him and wouldn’t be bullied. Not by him or by Alex.
“Alex thinks I should marry you,” he said.
“Alex is insane.” She glanced toward the door and repeated herself much more loudly so she could be certain her brother-in-law would hear. “If Alex thinks we should wed, he is absolutely deranged.”
Mr. Stanton snorted. “I told him you’d never consider it.”
“You’re correct. I never would.”
“Why is that precisely?”
“Must I spell it out? Can you bear to have me list all the sins you committed against me?”
“I can bear it, and I should have a chance to defend myself.”
“Defend yourself!” she huffed. “There’s no explanation you could offer that would change my opinion in the slightest.”
/> “You used to believe I was quite grand, but now you seem to hate me.”
“Hate is a strong word, but in this instance it might be appropriate.”
“Let’s begin at the beginning.”
“Where would that be?” she asked. “Would it be the first night I met you when you were kissing a young lady in the dark? Would it be when you bragged about how you enjoy seducing naïve girls for sport? Where did I fit in that scenario?”
“You started as a flirtation. I won’t deny it.”
“Will you stand here and pretend my status improved?”
“Yes.”
She scoffed with derision. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“I’m weary of your snotty attitude.”
“I don’t care.”
“So I’m going to talk for a bit, and you’re going to be silent while I do.”
“Spoken like a pompous male who assumes he knows everything.”
“I definitely know more about this than you.”
“I will debate that until my last breath.”
They glowered like two pugilists in the ring, and she detested that they were quarreling. She wasn’t a fighter. She wasn’t a woman who shouted and called people names. Hadn’t he caused her sufficient distress? Why should he be permitted to induce more?
“In London,” he said, “I asked you to marry me.”
“Yes. You were desperate to crawl into my bed, and I stupidly let you.”
“You point that out as if you don’t feel my proposal was sincere.”
“That’s because it wasn’t. You spent weeks flirting with me, but I deflected your enormous charm.” She sarcastically batted her lashes. “When you couldn’t work your wiles on me, you resorted to the oldest trick in the book. You swore you’d wed me—if I would lift my skirt. Wasn’t it convenient that you couldn’t possibly proceed to the altar until after you got what you desired?”
“It wasn’t like that,” he tersely insisted.
“Wasn’t it? I was there through the whole affair. Don’t act as if that isn’t what happened.”
His temper was bubbling up, and he looked as if he’d like to grab her and shake some sense into her. Apparently, he couldn’t control himself when he was so close to her, and he whipped away and stormed across the room.
