by Nikki Poppen
“I am enjoying myself as well as can be expected, considering the circumstances,” Cate said, passing through the open doorway in front of Giles.
They stood for a few moments at the stone balustrade, appreciating the beauty of the lawn laid before them in the early fall moonlight. In the distance, she caught the burble of a fountain. She took a deep breath. “The lawn is lovely this time of night, but I suspect that is not the reason you brought me out here”
“No, it is not. It appears that you and I have different understandings of what discretion means. For instance, I believe discretion includes such behavior as making oneself as unobtrusive as possible. You, on the other hand, seem to believe discretion includes behaviors such as donning men’s breeches and riding a horse in a fair race on an ungroomed track”
Cate fought back a smile. He was getting worked up now. “I didn’t mean for you to find out” She said in defense of her actions.
He quirked an eyebrow. “Do you think it was only a bad idea because I found out? That it would have been a good idea if I hadn’t known? That’s rather poor ethics. It shouldn’t have been done at all. Any type of harm could have befallen you.”
He had been concerned for her. The thought sent a warm sensation through her. In spite of the circumstances, he’d been concerned for her well-being. It was the second time he’d shown such concern that day, the first being his thoughtfulness over her need for clothing.
Cate tried to reciprocate. “I didn’t do it to provoke you,” she uttered softly. “I did it to provoke her. She was entirely out of line and needed to be put in her place.”
Giles leaned on the balustrade and harrumphed. “Normally, I’d agree but I’d rather not have her as an enemy when the winter season starts and parliament’s in session.”
“Perhaps you should have persuaded her to stay then. She could be a powerful ally to help you obliterate my claim.” Cate saw with the astute clarity she reserved for fortunetelling what it had cost Giles to give the woman up, distasteful as she was.
“Oh, yes. She’s an ambitious woman. Her political aspirations were stifled after the death of her first husband. It seemed she thought I’d be perfect for molding into the next prime minister. I suppose that avenue’s closed to me now” He gave a self-deprecating snort to indicate how little he cared for that loss. “Still, I feel compelled to warn you, if she gets scent of your claim to legitimacy, or discovers I don’t have any fourth cousins on my mother’s side, she’ll annihilate you”
“Why would you warn me? Wouldn’t you want that?” Cate asked, turning to look at Giles’s profile, strong and leonine in the spill of light coming from the drawing room.
“It’s not honorable to feed the unsuspecting to the wolves,” he replied without equivocation.
“Even if the unsuspecting person in question lays claim to your domain?” Cate whispered, hardly daring to breath.
“Even if,” Giles said solemnly. “Ethics and honor don’t mean much if they are applied haphazardly simply to gain one’s benefit”
Cate thought there might be a message hidden in the statement just for her. But she could not quite decipher it any more than she could decipher the darkening depths of his eyes. There was a sadness mirrored in them that she did not comprehend.
He lifted a hand and gently stroked her cheek, a half-smile playing at his mouth. “You’re an interesting woman, Cate. I would have liked to have known you,” Giles paused for a moment and then added softly, “without.”
Without.
The word quivered in the air between them, burgeoning with untold meaning. She knew what he meantwithout the complexities of the situation surrounding them. But what did it mean? Did it mean that he liked her? That she could have had Spelthome and him without attacking his heritage? She searched his eyes for confirmation of his thoughts but the vulnerable moment had passed. He was all business again.
“You will attend the ball tomorrow night. I am certain Isabella will have something suitable for you to borrow. It is, after all, only a country ball and gowns don’t have to be as elaborate as in town. Sleep well.” He bowed briskly and took himself back into the drawing room where the tea was finished and the guests were preparing to retire to their rooms.
Cate stayed on the verandah, enjoying the opportunity to watch him from a distance. She had never met a man of his ilk before, so committed to his sense of right and wrong that he would not be tempted to stray from his code, even when his very identity was on the line. She had glimpsed a part of who he was beyond the handsome facade and found the core of him as attractive as the outer layers he showed to the world.
She replayed the conversation in her mind, savoring the insights, the kind words, the touch of his hand on her cheek. She could hear the sound of his voice just as surely as if he stood there saying the words she treasured, “I wish I could have known you. Without.”
“Rubbish!” Magda declared firmly, helping Cate out of her dinner gown while Cate relayed the events of the evening. “That’s what he wants you to think. He’s trying to soften you up, talk you into dropping your claims.” She shook her head. “Men will promise a woman anything and when they have what they want, they’ll take back their word”
Cate turned from the long mirror to face Magda. “Other men, maybe. Not Giles. He’s different.” The intensity of her defense startled even her.
Magda threw up her hands. “It’s been one day and already he’s charmed you. He’s no different than his father, I tell you. Celeste was swept off her feet during the courtship and then dumped here in the country, forgotten entirely. You should know better. You’ve read the diary. Like father like son,” she warned.
“But he’s not his father’s son, literally.” Cate shrugged into a satin wrapper and belted it at the waist. Magda’s warning left her deflated. She crossed the room to the window seat where she’d spent the previous night. She knew herself to be a shrewd woman who understood human nature. She’d seen enough of the good and the bad through her years of telling fortunes. She could indeed read people like books, usually without error. Had she been so wrong about Giles?
“There, there, my sweetling,” Magda perched on the edge of the bed, her tone not as condemning. “I know you don’t want to believe me. Don’t take my word for it. Test your thoughts. Tell me everything that happened when you left for the fair this morning.”
Cate brightened at the prospect and shifted around in the window seat to get comfortable. “Giles took me up in the curricle next to him so we could talk about our strategy, about our mutual need for discretion. I took it as a good sign. He was not going to dismiss me out of hand. We would explore the possibilities of my claim together.
“He made sure I could avoid the company of that odious FoxHaughton woman by seeing me attached to Lady Isabella and Lady Cecile. After lunch we all went shopping together, and he bought me a cake of French milled soap. He squired me about all afternoon” She paused, leaving out the bit about the races. “I am certain we would have driven back in the curricle together if Lady FoxHaughton hadn’t come down with a headache. He treated me as if I were one of them, as if I belonged in their circles. Not once did he imply I was less than worthy of their company. We mustn’t forget all his kindnesses this morning with the gowns” Cate finished her recitation of Giles’s good deeds, feeling confident that Magda would have to secede some of her harsh position.
Magda fiddled with the pale-blue counterpane, tracing its patterns with a finger. “Have you thought why a gentleman would go to such lengths for a stranger? For a woman he does not know and who is not of his class? More to the point, why would a gentleman do such things for a woman who has the means to depose him from his life of luxury?”
Cate looked squarely at Magda. “Because he is a good man.”
Magda snorted. “You’re half right. He’s a man. Can you not think of another reason? One that has more logic?”
“No, I cannot, but I am sure you can. What do you think?” Cate said testily from th
e window seat. Magda’s pragmatism was becoming difficult to stomach, but she’d been right about much in Cate’s life and she was the only mother figure Cate had known. Difficult or not, it was hard to turn away from Magda’s counsel.
“He wanted to show you a slice of his life and how ill-equipped you are to assume a place in such circles.” Magda held up her fingers. “First, the gowns. He sent enough of them to impress you with their fine tailoring and to swamp you with choices he knew you couldn’t make between a carriage gown or a walking dress. The clothes were meant to intimidate you. Second, he imposed on you a new name and a false identity because he is embarrassed by your presence, not because he wants to assimilate you into the house party. Third, he kept you to himself because he doesn’t want you out his sight. You’re too dangerous left on the loose. Fourth, he bought you an effortless gewgaw-your precious soap and ribbons-to show you how much you lacked. You could not even afford one of those items on a whim. Are you charmed now with your handsome prince? Should I go on to examine the motives behind his facile words on the verandah this evening?”
Cate swallowed hard. Magda’s logic seemed far more reasonable than her own quickly paling assumptions. She had no proof to counter Magda’s claims beyond her intuition. Deep down in her heart, she knew Giles was not as manipulative as Magda suspected. Protective of his domain? Yes. Willing to fight her for it? Most definitely. But he would not fight unfairly. There was nothing to tell Magda. So she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms about them and enjoyed the pastoral night view from her window.
After a length of silence, she heard Magda rise from the bed and putter about the room, picking up clothes and tidying. “I don’t mean to hurt your feelings,” she muttered.
Cate sighed, balancing her chin on her knees. “I know”
“Where do we go from here?” Magda asked, after another long pause.
Cate was surprised by the question. Up until now, Magda had planned everything, from when they launched their campaign to how they would gain a foothold in the house. Of course Cate herself had had to execute the plans.
Now, Cate realized, Magda didn’t have the information she had. Magda wasn’t privy to the details about the curate.
“We stay. He’s sent for the curate. It will take a bit, maybe a month, for the curate to travel down. His parish is up in the north, outside of York. Then we shall see what is necessary to secure our claim.”
That news seemed to please Magda. “A month of soft living. Good beds, hot food. It’s a start”
Cate seized the moment. She was going to be in charge here. She needed to assert herself, something she didn’t hesitate to do except with Magda. It was time to change that. “Yes, we have a month of good living ahead of us. I intend to use it to full advantage and enjoy the opportunities available, starting tomorrow. I’m going to the ball as Lady Cate Winthrop, and I’m going to have a good time,” she said firmly. “Moreover, I am going to extend to Giles the courtesy he has extended to me and behave civilly in his company. I hope that by doing so he’ll see my claim to Spelthorne as something other than an act of revenge or anger at being cheated out of a birthright.”
Magda paused in the doorway to the dressing room. “Very well, have your fantasy of playing lady of the manor but don’t forget who you are and what you’re about when the time comes for the fantasy to be over. Spelthorne has bought himself some time by deciding to send for the curate. This gives him a month to gather his resources and to plot. You must remember that always.”
“He’s not the only one who’s been bought time. We have too. We need that time just as desperately”
Alone in his study, Giles idly flipped through a calendar. He had one month to uncover additional support regarding his heritage. The curate-cum-vicar would be a source of evidence when he arrived but Giles wanted more.
Tristan and Alain had offered to stay up with him and talk but he’d declined, preferring solitude to assess his thoughts-thoughts which were filled with intriguing images of the day just spent. To be sure, the day had been fraught with a certain tension. He’d had to make Cate’s masquerade believable while mitigating Candice’s inquiries and sharp tongue.
Surprisingly, there had also been pleasure in the day. There had been the moment when he’d spied Cate on the landing coming down to join the throng that morning. He’d been captivated by the sight of her for long moments before he recalled who she was and reminded himself why she was there. She’d looked elegant and composed in the borrowed muslin and her hair twisted up underneath her hat. She’d looked as if she belonged among them.
There had been the gaiety of shopping through the booths and a glimpse of Cate’s steely backbone. Remembering how she’d claimed a place at his side, undaunted by Candice’s possessiveness still brought a smile to his face. He could feel it spreading across his mouth, and he chuckled to himself. It had been an easy thing to spend money on her at the fair. The unfettered delight and surprise at receiving the soap and ribbons had thrilled him.
He’d bought Candice a ruby bracelet once, and she’d politely thanked him with no more genuine warmth than if he’d brought her a posy of violets. He would wager Cate would have been just as thrilled with violets as she had been with soap.
Wagering conjured up the last image of the fair. He had scolded her on the terrace for her rash actions but if the situation between them had been more amicable, he doubted he would have cared beyond concern for her safety. In truth, he had little concern there. She’d shown herself to be nearly nonpareil as a rider. She’d easily keep up with him and his horse-mad friends.
He’d almost thought he was mistaken about the race when he saw her again at dinner. It was hard to reconcile the serene, neatly coiffed woman seated at supper in a pale-blue gown of eau de nil silk with the reckless hoyden from the track.
He had to remind himself that looks didn’t make a lady. There was more to it than looking pretty in fancy gowns, but he had to admit she had the bearing for it. So far she’d pulled off her part of the masquerade quite successfully, as long as one didn’t talk to her too long and realize her conversation was not all it should be. He’d noticed today, she was a quick study. By midafternoon, she’d picked up on one of Isabella’s favorite expressions, “La” He’d been neatly surprised to hear her use it when dealing with Candice.
Watching Cate had definitely proved entertaining and insightful today. He hadn’t uncovered anything today about supporting his own claim to Spelthorne, but he had learned several things about her. After watching men in parliament and assessing the people and issues that came before him as the earl, Giles thought himself to be a good judge of human nature. What he had seen of Cate, her strength, her tenacity, her own sense of justice, suggested to him that she was serious about her claim to Spelthorne. She believed in the truth of that claim. She was not out to scam him but to lay claim to what was rightfully hers.
Because of that, he found her to be an intoxicating mix of danger and desire. He admired many of the qualities she’d shown him today.
He’d meant it, as foolish as the statement may have been, on the verandah when he’d said he wished he could have known Cate without the quagmire surrounding them. He doubted the resolution of the pending issue between them would leave much room for friendship, especially since it could only be resolved one way-in his favor.
However, he did have a month before the curate arrived. One month in which he must discreetly gather evidence in his cause. Yet, still a month when the issue between them was somewhat stalemated. The idea grew in his mind. It was just possible that the month could be used for something in addition to evidence gathering. He could spend it with Cate, the person.
But to what end? His practical nature queried. What could come of that endeavor? His practical nature would need an answer beyond the mere whimsy of wanting to know her, to be near her, to watch and see what kind of crazy stunt she’d pull next.
He hit upon an answer that would satisfy his practical self. He would get he
r ready for her new life, one that he would fund when her claims were dismissed. When that happened, she would need somewhere to go. She would not be going back to life with the Rom. She had left her caravan, the only source of home she’d likely ever known. She would be devastated when the claims were proven false. Some funds would soften the blow.
He’d see her able to purchase a decent home in the country and provided with a modest allowance for living. He would set her up as country gentry and for that, she’d need some training. She would need to know how to order dresses, what to wear to certain functions, how to run a small household, and myriad other items. Over the course of the month, he’d teach her those things. He would organize her new life for her.
Ah yes. His practical side was very pleased with his answer.
By 7:00 the next evening, Cate was nearly shaking with nerves and anticipation while she sat in her room, waiting to be summoned. She was going to a real ball with gentry and even a few peers in attendance. It was just as she imagined that evening in the Denbigh’s garden. Giles would be there. He would see her in the lovely gown of rose crepe with its vandyked flounces at the hem showing off the delicate cream silk underskirt beneath. Her hair was done to suit her long-ago fairy tale, piled high on her head with a few gentle curls allowed to stray, framing her face. Throughout the carefully piled coiffure was wound a subtle strand of small pearls, courtesy of Isabella, who had apologized they were only Scottish pearls.
Cate wiggled her toes in the satin dancing slippers of pale cream, another item on loan from Isabella’s seemingly endless trunk of clothing. They were a bit too large, a subtle reminder that the reality fell short from the imaginings of her mind. The dress was borrowed. It wasn’t the aquamarine gown she dreamed of wearing and, like all of Isabella’s loaned garments, it had to be hemmed before it fit Cate well enough. The shoes were stuffed with wads of cotton in the toes to prevent her from tripping, although she hoped she didn’t have to move around overly much. That was another concern contributing to her rising nerves as she waited. In her daydreams, she knew how to dance properly-not the wild abandoned dances she performed so well at the gypsy camp.
