“This is the part that Mother doesn’t want you to know.” He stopped speaking. Catherine knew better than to plead with him. Either he would tell her or he wouldn’t, and nothing she could say would sway him, so she let the silence stretch between them.
The residential area surrounding Bernini’s was behind them, and now they were traveling through a business district, shuttered for the night. When the storefronts closed, an entirely different sort of environment came to life in its own sordid way. As they passed a pub, someone opened a door, letting out a blast of raucous laughter that was abruptly silenced when the door fell shut. Gaslights illuminated the night-dwellers in scattered vignettes as she rode along. Here, a man stumbled out of a tavern; there, a woman leaned against a lamppost. Catherine blushed. She knew why the woman with the painted face lingered on the street. Mother had no idea of the things she’d seen.
“The girl is ruined, Catherine,” Charles said at last. “The scoundrel didn’t marry her and has disappeared. When her father tried to track him down, he discovered that the man’s credentials and letters of introduction had been fabricated.”
Catherine’s jaw went slack. “What of the girl?” she asked, her voice sounding faint.
“I don’t know for certain,” he said. Catherine could tell he was still keeping something from her, so she waited for him to continue. “Mother and Father thought it best for me to stay away from Oxford this term. Especially since her father is a professor. I also have the misfortune of sharing the same first name with that odious man, which has muddied the waters regarding my involvement. Mother and Father hope that by next term, the stories will have died down enough to allow me to return to my studies.”
Catherine examined her brother. Despite his cavalier attitude, he looked worried. “You know that if there’s anything I can do to help...”
“I know. Brothers in arms, right, Gray?”
Catherine mulled over the problem as they rode past another lady of the night. She was young, much younger than Catherine’s twenty years. Her face was hard, with no girlishness remaining in it. How had she come to be here? Could she have been like the girl from Oxford? After all, the man who’d seduced her faced no real repercussions. But the girl? She was ruined. Ruined by a scoundrel. He’d been the one to wrong her, and she’d be the one to pay.
Catherine chafed against the unequal rules faced by her gender. At least she’d been able to find a way to subvert them, even if she had to hide it from her mother and the rest of the outside world. But if she was discovered, wouldn’t she be ruined just the same? Society wouldn’t approve of a young woman entering a men’s dressing area, or of her spending time alone with men with no chaperone to watch over her.
In front of them, a horse started forward from an alleyway with a jolt, pulling a nearly empty wagon out onto the street. Catherine and Charles swerved to avoid it. The sharp scent of spilled ale and raw pine boards told her it was a delivery wagon dropping off its barrels at a pub. Perhaps the smell of fresh pine accounted for its presence so late at night. It had probably undergone repairs and been delayed.
They rode another twenty minutes before returning to the wealthy neighborhood surrounding their home. The houses here were old and stately, much larger than most of the newer ones in London, and Kensington House was rather imposing. Once they arrived, Charles turned openly toward the stables at the rear of their home, but Catherine stayed along the side of the house, retreating into the shadows and directing her mount onto the softer, snow-patched grass next to the gravel carriage path. Since there was a full moon tonight, she wished the warm, black cloak that enveloped her could also make her invisible.
While she lingered in the gloom, Charles pushed open the door to the stables. Billy, their twelve-year-old stable boy, snapped awake. As usual, he’d waited to assist Catherine rather than retiring to the sleeping quarters in the rooms above the horses’ stalls.
“Good evening, m’lord,” Billy said to Charles. Catherine slipped in behind her brother.
The sweet scent of hay already awaiting their horses in their stalls greeted her as she entered the stables, and it tickled her nose. The smell mingled with that of saddle oil and leather and permeated the boards of the building.
“Good evening to you too, m’lady. I’ll take care of Wildfire for you.” Although she was certain Billy had been sound asleep moments before, he appeared clear-headed, even at this late hour.
“Thank you, Billy.”
He hurried about his work, removing the saddle and bridle from her mount while Charles performed the same tasks for his own horse.
Catherine rubbed Wildfire’s head below his ear and then patted his neck. Her father had presented him to her as a gift three years ago. When she wore her black cloak while mounted on the black horse, she blended into the darkness. Trust Papa to consider those sorts of details. Thank goodness she didn’t have to hide her fencing from both of her parents. Only Mother stood firmly against it. But her father had never been a conformist, much to Mother’s despair.
Catherine pulled a carrot from the pocket of her cloak and held it out. Wildfire snapped off the end with his front teeth. A second bite took most of the remainder. She held the last two inches of the orange treat on the flat of her hand and felt his velvety lips tickle her palm as he took the rest of it.
While Billy finished taking care of Wildfire, Catherine removed her cloak and set about altering her disguise.
She opened a trunk she kept locked in the stables and pulled out the garments she had stored there. First she slipped on the overdress portion of her costume, hiding her masculine attire. The ingenious design was her own creation. She had devised a wraparound dress that she could slip on without any assistance. Her solution incorporated petticoats in its construction, and they provided the bell-shaped skirt that was currently in fashion.
Next she removed the false scars from her face, scraping at them with her fingernail and peeling them away. Then she pulled the snug white skullcap from her hair and stroked the crushed strands back into place. She glanced into the small square of mirror she’d hung in the stables for just this situation and rubbed off a tattered remnant of her scar. Her transformation was complete. Alexander Gray was again Lady Catherine Williams. Albeit an unkempt and unfashionable Lady Catherine, without a dreaded corset to cinch her waist.
Catherine retrieved a grimy scrap of grayish cloth from the bench and wiped the black dust from Wildfire’s head, uncovering the hidden white blaze, thus removing his disguise as well.
Billy threw a blanket over Wildfire’s back. “He’s all done, miss—I mean, m’lady.” His face flushed as he corrected himself, still not used to the change in her title and status.
The additional demands she faced as an earl’s daughter weighed heavily upon her, and Billy’s small blunder served to remind her of this new set of problems. When her uncle and then her grandfather had died, her father’s title had changed first to viscount and then to earl, and her own form of address had changed from Miss Williams to Lady Catherine. She now merited a “my lady” rather than a “miss.” The entire convoluted mess was a bother, and their mother insisted they all adapt to their new roles in society without delay.
Catherine hated it all. She’d much preferred being the daughter of a simple military man.
“I’ll put him in his stall for the night, my lady.” Billy took Wildfire’s halter and led him away. Charles closed the stable doors as he and Catherine left to slip back into the house.
At the rear entrance, Charles took her arm, holding her in place. “Remember. You don’t know anything about what happened in Oxford. You have to make sure Mother doesn’t find out I told you. You know how she can be.”
“And you know you can trust me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”
3 - Huntley at Home
Daniel strode into his rented town house and headed straight for his study. He was in a hurry and immediately shrugged out of his jacket, handing it to Madson, his valet. “This has a loo
se button. Can you have it repaired in ten minutes? I have another appointment soon.”
“Yes, my lord. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
Daniel frowned at the ruddy-faced man for saying “my lord,” but didn’t correct him. He’d been trying to convince Madson to be less formal for years, but he insisted on using the honorific, even when they were alone. The constant my lording irritated Daniel, especially when it came from Madson’s lips. After all, they used to be friends, running through the local village together and getting into scrapes. But despite Daniel’s efforts, Madson insisted on being proper.
“I put several more invitations on your desk,” Madson said, gesturing toward them.
“More? Doesn’t anyone do anything in this town other than go to parties?”
“I wouldn’t know, my lord. I’m sure there must be other types of entertainment. Perhaps I can look into it for you.” He furrowed his brows in consternation.
“Blast it, no. It was a rhetorical question,” Daniel said, waving him away. He shook his head, giving his valet a mock frown. It was an ongoing joke between them. When Daniel began grumbling about things overly much, Madson pretended to take his comments literally.
Madson sniffed and left the room, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Daniel scooped up the stack of invitations and tapped them against his leg as he wandered across the room. He dropped down onto the dark-green upholstered sofa and relaxed against the cushions, draping one ankle over the other knee.
He peered down at the stack of envelopes and began thumbing through them. Some he immediately tossed aside. He’d been in London only a short time, but he could already pick out the ones he could safely ignore. He needed a wife, and a card party among a group of ancients wouldn’t help him. He propped the more appealing ones against his stomach.
The stack became smaller after he culled the obvious rejects, but still... he shook his head, bemused by the number of invitations remaining. He fingered each envelope, wishing it would yield the answer to his question—should he respond “yes” or “no”?
Or, more precisely, would he find a wife if he attended?
He tipped his head back against the sofa, closing his eyes for a moment and rubbing them. He’d postponed choosing a wife for as long as possible. Perhaps too long. But rebuilding his estate in Scotland had taken precedence because the people living there were desperate for some sort of livelihood. It pained him even now to recall how fields had lain fallow and timberlands had remained untended under his father’s stewardship. What a wretched waste.
A robust economy had once flourished on the Huntley estates, both from fishing and shipbuilding, but everything had been neglected and eventually shut down under his father’s stewardship. Roads and bridges hadn’t been maintained. There had been so much waste, such blatant disregard for what had once been a beautiful, productive economy, that the task of rebuilding it had seemed overwhelming.
Daniel arched his back, tucked his hand into his pocket, and pulled out his timepiece. He flopped back against the sofa and stared down at the familiar object. He always kept it with him, along with the knife that was currently tucked away in his boot. He ran his thumb over the warm, smooth cover of the pocket watch.
In an odd, backward sort of gesture, his father’s former butler, Thomas Latimer, had given Daniel the watch when he’d retired from service, and Daniel’s gift had been to provide Thomas with a stipend that allowed him to live comfortably for the remainder of his years. Thomas had cared more about Daniel’s future than his own father had. He’d been the one who’d persuaded the former Lord Huntley to send Daniel to Eton rather than allowing him to run wild with the local village boys.
Daniel carried the heavy pocket watch as a fitting reminder of the importance of time. Every second needed to count. His widowed father had squandered his time on earth, cloistered in a self-imposed exile while his world decayed around him. But time had marched on without him. Once Daniel had inherited, there’d been a time for recovery and a time for rebuilding. Now was the time for planning his legacy.
He clenched a fist around his timepiece. His talisman. Taking an exemplary wife and producing heirs would be the best way to ensure that the hard work he’d invested in rebuilding would have a lasting impact. He’d find the perfect woman here in London. She’d be someone who could hold her head high in society, provide a home beyond reproach, and raise strong, resilient children.
He put the watch away and returned his attention to the stack of invitations.
Last night had been the first time in two weeks he’d taken a break from searching for the perfect wife. He’d needed some respite, and he’d earned it after the previous evening’s debacle. Who but a complete idiot would fall for Lady Lydia’s “Help me, there’s something in my eye” trick?
It was fortunate he hadn’t moved any closer to assist her; otherwise, it would have appeared that they were embracing when her parents burst into the room. Their entrance had been timed with such precision that they must have planned it. Lord Larchmont was a cunning man. It had come to Daniel’s attention that the man had been making inquiries about Daniel’s finances. He probably wanted to arrange a match for his daughter, and the ruse was his attempt to apply pressure to the negotiations.
Daniel continued leafing through the stack of invitations and then paused. He plucked out a particular one that had caught his interest, sprang from the sofa, and then strode to his desk to check his social calendar. He’s already accepted this one, hadn’t he? Yes. There it was. Dinner at Lady Wilmot’s home, tonight.
He’d been in London long enough to know that accepting an invitation from Lady Wilmot practically guaranteed that he’d have a pleasant evening. And it would be free of the Larchmont's, since she’d taken a dislike to them. It would be nice to take a break from them. They seemed to show up at every single event he attended. He wondered briefly if someone really had been following him home from Bernini’s tonight — someone who worked for the Larchmont’s. But no, that would be ludicrous.
Lady Wilmot always kept her guest list small and selective, preferring a good conversationalist to a guest of high rank or social status. Her handwritten note mentioned that Wentworth had been invited and that some interesting young women would attend as well. Daniel had to admit that the evening sounded promising.
Last night, his mercurial friend hadn’t been at his best. He’d been obnoxious toward that boy, Gray, and had ended up making himself look like an ass. The outing hadn’t served as a release for Daniel’s tension, and he’d left Bernini’s no more relaxed than when he’d started. The tension was wearing on him, leaving him jumpy. When he’d had the feeling they were being followed and had mentioned it to Wentworth, the man had proceeded to chide him unmercifully about it. Once back at his town house, he’d snapped when Wentworth wouldn’t stop complaining about Gray. Fortunately, his friend had immediately changed his demeanor after that and started behaving in a more genial manner. The man’s lack of self-confidence sometimes made him defensive when he was in competitive situations. And since dinner parties were by nature non-competitive, he should have ample opportunity to make a good impression at Lady Wilmot’s.
Daniel gave his heavily scheduled calendar a frown. With all the late nights he’d been spending trolling for a bride, finding time to squeeze in any actual work was difficult. He needed to make his choice soon. Perhaps he should simply end the search now, settle upon Lydia despite her manipulations, and free up his calendar.
He let out a heavy sigh. When would he meet a quiet, intelligent young woman who was above reproach and content to live far from London? One equally content with an absent husband? He’d plucked a few wallflowers, pulling one out onto a ballroom floor and engaging another in conversation, thinking that a solitary woman might thrive in the type of environment he envisioned for his wife, but so far, none had met all of his criteria.
He sorted through the remaining invitations as he allowed his thoughts to continu
e wandering. All of the proper young ladies he’d met thus far seemed to have identical personalities. Not one of them stood out as being someone exceptional, nor had any of them stirred any feelings of attraction within him. But then again, he wasn’t looking for love, just a wife. Affection shouldn’t play any part in his decision.
He glanced at the clock. “Madson!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
His valet popped into the study with a bouncing step, carrying Daniel’s jacket. “You bellowed, sir? I’m right here. I repaired the button.”
Daniel ignored the “bellowed” comment and shrugged into the charcoal-gray jacket Madson held for him. As Daniel adjusted the cuffs at his wrists to show just the right amount of white, Madson nodded his approval.
“I need you to send replies to these invitations,” Daniel said, gesturing toward the two stacks on his desk. “The small pile contains the events I plan to attend. Send my regrets to the others.” The “regrets” pile was more than triple the size of the smaller one. “Make note of the ones I’ll attend in my calendar.”
Madson nodded as he straightened the piles. He handled most of Huntley’s personal correspondence, a common enough task for a valet employed by a bachelor.
“I have some business appointments, and then I have a meeting at the Ambridge Club with one of my managers. I should return in plenty of time to dress for dinner. Wentworth will be stopping by for me, so I won’t need the carriage this evening. The coachman can have the night off.”
Daniel turned toward the door, eating up the floor with his long strides, but he remembered something and paused to glance back over his shoulder. “If I’m running late, make sure you offer Wentworth a drink. He was quite put out the last time I kept him waiting and none was offered. Let’s make sure the evening begins on a good note.”
4 - Marching Orders
The next morning, Catherine woke up famished and eager to rush downstairs to the breakfast room. Now that she was back in London, she could slip into the ballroom and work through some fencing drills. She leaned over and touched her toes, stretching her stiff muscles. Her legs protested her strenuous use of them last night at Bernini’s, but that was the price she paid for the forced break in her fencing routine.
Lady Catherine's Secret: A Secrets and Seduction book Page 3
