by Cheryl Holt
“Listen to me, Catherine Henley, and listen good.”
“Why should I?”
“Because I’m tired of listening to you. It’s my turn to rant and rave.”
“Fine! Have at it. Give me your version of events—although why you think it will help is beyond me.”
“I meant to come for you that day. At noon, just as I promised.”
“Sure you did.”
“But when I arrived at my apartment, my brother was there.”
“Bully for him.”
“I told you about his gambling problem.”
“And I regret that he’s succumbed,” she earnestly replied, and it was the first courteous comment she’d offered. Gambling was devastating to families.
“He’s deeply in debt, and his creditors have been hounding him.”
“I regret that too.”
“They had brutally beaten him.”
She’d intended a snide rejoinder, but all she could manage was a simple, “Oh.”
“They had broken his arm, his nose, and several of his ribs. His eyes were swelled shut, and the damage was so severe I was scared he might have been blinded.”
“Oh,” she said again.
“My servants were in a state of shock and hadn’t rendered any assistance except to make him comfortable. I sent for the doctor, then waited for him to show up. I had to hold my brother as the cast was put on his arm, as his ribs were bound, as his nose was straightened. It was an appalling day.”
“I can imagine.”
“So I couldn’t come for you. I probably could have abandoned him to run off and elope, but I couldn’t tear myself away. If that paints me as a horrible person, then so be it.”
“I’m glad you stayed with him.”
“I wrote you a note.”
“Yes, and Gertrude opened it. With Bertha spying on us, she was aware that you’d been in my room. I was fired and kicked out.”
“I figured that was what occurred.”
He appeared genuinely remorseful, and his obvious emotion niggled at her kindly nature. She’d been furious with him for so long, and it was dangerous to provide him even the tiniest chance to slink back into her good graces. She’d never been able to fend him off so she couldn’t let him garner any sympathy. If she did, she’d be swiftly lured into his disreputable, illicit life again.
“You visited Mr. Bolton at his office.” It was the grievance that would keep her on an angry path. “You were supposed to cry off, but instead you agreed to continue on with the engagement and you accepted an advance on the dowry money!”
“Yes, and I have no excuse for it.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am. I was rattled by my brother’s situation, and Mr. Bolton played on my misery and confusion. He reminded me of my obligation to my father, and he asked me to retire to the country and ponder my decision before I ended my betrothal. He maintained that if my affection for you was authentic, it would survive a bit of contemplation.”
She scowled. “You told him about me? About us?”
“Of course, but he worked hard to convince me I was merely suffering from bachelor’s jitters and my fondness for you wasn’t real.”
“And the dowry money?”
“He’d heard about my brother, and he gave it to me so I could pay down some of what was owed to Andrew’s creditors. I shouldn’t have taken it, but I did, and I’m not sorry.”
“I understand,” and she really, really meant it.
He was a loyal man, a soldier who had thrived on duty and commitment. It would be easy to sway him, to coax him into remembering what was due, what was expected. Mr. Bolton—for all his pretending to be a buffoon—was a very rich businessman. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being an idiot.
“Even though he pressured me,” he said, “I didn’t relent. I departed his office and proceeded directly to fetch you. I had no intention of loafing in the country and reflecting on what I wanted. I was certain of what I wanted.”
“What was that?”
“You, you little fool. I wanted to marry you as we planned, but you were gone. Gertrude claimed you had received a letter about an emergency in your family, and you left to be with your relatives.”
“That was a lie.”
“I know that,” he groused, “but she wouldn’t tell me where you were. I bribed several of the servants, but they had no idea either.”
“I visited Mrs. Ford to find a new job,” she said, “but Gertrude had talked to her about me, and I was dropped as a client.”
“The witch.”
“I headed to the boarding house where I stay when I’m between positions, and they had packed my things. They tossed me out.”
“Then what happened?”
“I traveled to Middlebury, to my childhood home. Usually, I would rather slit my wrists than return there, but for once I was relieved because my cousin, Jasper, sent me to Abigail.”
“I’m glad.”
“So am I. Otherwise, I can’t predict what would have become of me in London.”
“I visited Mrs. Ford too. I went to the boarding house. Everyone I spoke to insisted they had no information about you.”
“You did not do that,” she scoffed.
“Don’t call me a liar,” he hotly retorted. “I looked everywhere for you. I was terrified that you were in trouble, but I couldn’t locate you.”
Her rage was definitely fading. He was incensed at having his veracity questioned. Could it be? Could he have searched for her? Could he have shown up at Mr. Bolton’s residence to take her away? Had he come late, but still willing to follow through?
At realizing she was mulling those issues, she was extremely disturbed. She’d spent so many weeks loathing him, denigrating him, devising reasons to stoke the fire of her fury. She couldn’t back away from her wrath for she wasn’t sure where she’d wind up.
“Then,” he continued, “I rode to Stanton Manor because I hoped you might go there. On the way, I stopped here quite by accident. I was so excited to have stumbled on you, and for my efforts I was humiliated and insulted—and slapped.”
“You deserved to be slapped,” she mumbled, but she blushed with chagrin. If he was being truthful, she’d behaved like a spoiled toddler. “What about Libby?”
“Libby Markham? You’re constantly asking me about her. Why?”
“Describe your relationship with her.”
“I don’t have one. We’re barely acquainted.”
“She was ruined.”
“Yes, by my friend, Nicholas Swift. He’s a gambler and wastrel, but she was positive she could wrangle a marriage proposal out of him. I felt sorry for her, and she was so miserable living with the Boltons that I kept many of her secrets—when I shouldn’t have. I ultimately confided to Gertrude that she might be in a jam.”
“Were you having an affair with her?”
“Me! And Libby Markham? You’re mad if you suppose I would have.”
At the denial, he seemed genuinely offended and more of her ire vanished. “Gertrude told me you seduced three girls last year besides me. She said you dallied with Libby—at the same time you were flirting with me.”
“She said that?”
“Is your estate bankrupt? Will you lose it forever on July fifteenth?”
“No.” He was frozen in place, the air charged with a dangerous silence, then he snorted with disgust. “The fact that Gertrude would fabricate such slurs only makes me delighted with how things concluded.”
“How did they conclude?”
“After I was slapped by you and chased away by Alex, I returned to London, and I caught my brother gambling again. His arm was still in a sling, yet he was wagering, and I decided naught mattered to me anymore. I was simply eager to receive the dowry money so I could stop worrying about every trifle. I tried to have an immediate wedding with Priscilla.”
“You tried to have a wedding?
”
“Yes, in the chapel at Stanton Manor. I was actually standing at the altar with her when Alex burst in and dragged me away.”
“You left Priscilla at the altar?”
“Yes.”
Catherine started to giggle, then laugh, then she was chortling with glee. She could absolutely picture it: Gertrude wringing her hands, Mr. Bolton huffing and puffing, Priscilla dressed in a French gown and dripping with jewels as Alex marched down the aisle and absconded with her fiancé. It was hilarious and scandalous, and she couldn’t be more ecstatic.
“That is the best story ever,” she told him.
“I thought you might like it.”
“What happened when you walked out of the church? I assume my brother-in-law gave you a sound thrashing.”
“Yes, but as I mentioned, I didn’t fight back. I hurt you, and I deserved every blow as punishment.”
He was still across the room, and he took a step toward her, then another, and another.
“I refuse to let you be angry with me,” he said.
“I might not be quite as angry as I was.”
“Good because I’m tired of explaining myself. Is there any other detail you need me to clarify?”
“No, I don’t believe so.”
He kept coming, and as she watched him approach a wave of panic swept over her. It seemed as if their quarrel had ended. It seemed as if they’d hashed out their differences. If they were no longer livid, if she no longer hated him, where would it leave her? She had no idea.
“It appears to me,” he said, “that numerous people conspired to separate us.”
“They might have.”
“Gertrude was especially determined.”
“She was.”
“But I’m thrilled by their interference.”
“Why would you be?” Catherine asked. “It created havoc in my life. There was nothing thrilling about it.”
“True, and I was ready to do my duty, to behave as I was expected to behave.”
“And now?”
He’d finally reached her, and he grinned from ear to ear. “I’ve discovered that I don’t have to behave as anyone expects.”
Suddenly, he dropped to a knee and clasped her hand. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t release her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“What do you think? I’m proposing to you—again.”
“Please don’t.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because you asked me once, and I agreed once, but you didn’t mean it.”
“Catherine, pay attention! I attempted to follow through, but you vanished, and I couldn’t find you.”
“Oh.”
“So be silent and listen to me.”
“All right.”
“I might not be the greatest catch in the kingdom.”
“You’re not,” she churlishly said.
“I’m bossy and selfish, and I can be a lout when the mood strikes me.”
“Yes, you can be.”
“I acted like an ass and left you in dire straights.”
“You did.”
“But…I am so in love with you, Catherine. I’m so in love. If you don’t tell me you’ll have me, that you’ll be mine, I don’t know what will become of me.”
She gazed down at him, and the most annoying tide of affection bubbled up. She’d never been able to resist him. From the very first moment, she’d been bowled over.
He wasn’t like any man she’d ever met. He was tough and strong and resilient. He’d traveled the oceans and seen sights she couldn’t imagine. He was smart and educated and interesting. He’d been a soldier, had bravely served his country and come home wiser and shrewder because of it.
Though she liked to pretend he was horrid, he really wasn’t. He was very loyal, and he’d clung so tightly to his responsibility to his family that he’d been willing to sacrifice himself to Priscilla in order to protect the Stanton estate.
“You’re making this so hard,” she murmured.
“How am I making it hard?”
“I’m so afraid of you.”
“Afraid of me?” He scoffed. “There are a thousand things in this world you should fear, but I am not one of them. Marry me. Let me prove myself to you.”
“What if I consent, but you flit off on me? I couldn’t bear to suffer through such agony again.”
“I didn’t flit off. You disappeared, remember? And if I don’t wed you, your brother-in-law will murder me.”
“He will not.”
“Yes, he will. I distinctly heard him. Could you stand by and allow me to be murdered?”
She actually laughed at that. “No, I couldn’t allow you to be murdered.”
“Then you have to marry me.”
He was wearing her down, and his ability to coerce her, to persuade her, had her weak with disgust at herself.
From the instant Alex had pushed her into the parlor and locked the door, she’d struggled to ignore the fondness Christopher so easily stirred. She’d intended to stay angry and aggrieved, but when he was on his knees and begging her to relent it was so difficult to remain firm.
He laid a palm on her belly and asked, “Don’t you have something you need to tell me?”
She hadn’t mentioned the baby because once she admitted it she couldn’t take it back. He wouldn’t let her walk away. Did she want him as her husband? Yet weren’t they far beyond the point of wanting? When she was with child, weren’t they at the end of the road?
Why was she dithering? She didn’t have a choice, but it depressed her to wed because she had to. And she didn’t like having him forced to wed because he was about to be a father. No, she was anxious for it to occur because they were madly in love. Apparently, she was much more of a romantic than she’d ever suspected.
He’d claimed he loved her, and his sentiment seemed genuine. What about herself? She’d been certain she detested him, and her animosity and fondness were tangled together. Weren’t love and loathing two sides of the same coin? How could she harbor such enmity unless it was fueled by powerful affection?
“I’m having a baby,” she said.
“And…?”
“You’re the father.”
“And…?”
“I guess I’ll marry you.”
“You guess?” He rolled his eyes with exasperation. “You have to give me a better reply than that. If you’re going to be petulant about it, I won’t proceed.”
“I always hoped to marry for love.”
“I swear, Catherine, there is a problem with your hearing. Weren’t you listening? I love you. I love you so much I’m dying with it.” He took her other hand so he was holding both of them, and he shook her slightly. “Now tell me you love me too. Tell me you love me so much you’re dying with it. We’ll live happily ever after.”
She stared down at him, and a flood of visions drifted past. She recalled meeting him that evening at Vauxhall, waltzing the night away, acting young and free and content as she hadn’t been in ages. She recalled their picnic, their torrid embraces, how the air sizzled and cracked with passionate energy when he was near.
He’d made her feel special and cherished, had made her dream and think of a grand future. She yearned to feel that excitement again. She yearned to feel it every day for the rest of her life.
“I might love you,” she tentatively stated.
He stood. “We’re finally getting somewhere.”
“I might like to be your wife.”
“Wonderful, although I have to inform you I’m penniless, and there will be no fortune to save us. If you decide to have me, this is all you’ll ever have. There won’t be more.”
She pictured his beautiful, decrepit home of Stanton Manor. She pictured herself residing there with him, the house gradually filling up with their pretty daughters and handsome sons.
“If I could have you as my husband,” s
he said, “then I will always have more than enough.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Because on the trip here, your brother-in-law stopped in town and obtained a Special License. If you consent to be my bride, there’s to be an immediate wedding.”
“Alex was worried about one of us refusing to agree,” she said. “Was it you or was it me?”
“It was you, you silly goose. I was extremely eager, but I told him you’d take some convincing. Have I convinced you?”
“Yes, you’ve convinced me.”
“We’re done quarreling?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t hate me?”
“I never hated you.”
“You’ll be mine?”
“Yes, Christopher Wakefield-Stanton, I will be yours.”
He whooped with joy and leaned down to kiss her. He lifted her off the floor, twirling her in circles as they laughed and sighed and kissed some more.
Eventually, she realized the door was opening. She glanced over to see Alex and Abigail had entered.
“We heard shouting,” Alex said, “so we had to check on you. Abigail thought it sounded like a cry of elation. I thought it sounded like someone had committed a homicide. Which is it?”
“I’m kissing her, Alex,” Christopher said. “Which would you suppose?”
“You didn’t kill each other?”
“No, we didn’t.”
“So…are we about to have a wedding?” Abigail asked.
Christopher gazed down at Catherine. “Well, Catherine? Are we about to have a wedding?”
“Yes.” She placed her hand on her stomach and grinned. “I don’t dare delay.”
“That’s all I need to know,” Alex said, and he motioned to his wife. “We should leave them alone for a few more minutes so we can be certain they’ve come to their senses.”
“They look very happy to me,” Abigail said. “I believe we’re there already.”
“And they’ll be even happier if we give them a bit more privacy.”
They scooted out, and Alex closed the door. She and Christopher froze, the moment terribly intimate and thrilling.
“Will it be a boy or a girl?” he asked.
