The Fugitive Heiress

by Amanda Scott

“And who, if you please, is Bert?”

  Catheryn smiled. “His name is Bert Ditchling, sir, and he was my grandfather’s estate manager. He’s been my groom since we removed to Caston Manor. I know such a change of position must seem strange, but it is not. Bert was raised at Westering. When Grandpapa gambled away the better part of his lands and fortune and had to release most of his servants, Bert refused to go. For several years before his death, Grandpapa suffered from the gout and was unable to leave his bed except to sit sometimes in a chair, and he came to depend entirely upon Bert. After he died, Bert refused to abandon me—his words, sir—and my uncle was kind enough to allow him to accompany me to the manor. I might add that Bert agrees with you wholeheartedly on the subject of my journey to London. I have been forced to endure his scolds all day.”

  “Knowledge of where my duty lies gives me the feeling that you should endure mine as well, Miss Westering.” She looked at him anxiously, and he added more mildly that he would endeavor to restrain himself. “You speak kindly of your uncle. I confess a curiosity to know what necessitated this flight.”

  She blushed. “It was not entirely my uncle, sir, but also his son, who believes himself in love with me. I don’t know what ails the man, but it’s rather wearing.”

  Though she had hoped to provoke it, his laughter was nonetheless surprising, softening the stern countenance and bringing the glimmer of a twinkle to his eye. “I beg your pardon,” he said, hurriedly recovering himself, “but you look so woebegone. I’ve never seen a woman react in such a way to the admission of a man’s love for her. Pray forgive me.”

  The color in her face became more pronounced, but she smiled. “Not very becoming of me, is it. I’m afraid I am not as conscious as I should be of the honor Edmund does me, my lord. It seems quite ridiculous. I cannot love him and have no wish to spend my life buried in the country. But that is not all, sir. There is more.” He raised his brows again, and she proceeded to explain the matter of Uncle Daniel’s money. When she finished, Dambroke was broodingly silent for some time.

  “The matter interests me,” he said finally, “but I do not understand precisely what you expect me to do.”

  Catheryn took a deep breath, cakes and lemonade forgotten for the moment. “I am not certain exactly how matters stand, sir, but Edmund said the money must stay in trust until I am twenty-five or until I marry, with my uncle as trustee. As I said, I have no wish to marry Edmund, but with my uncle holding the purse strings, I shall have little opportunity to meet anyone else; and, eventually they may wear me to the point that I shall accept Edmund against my better judgment. I need someone to support my case, and I hoped you might oblige. I should like very much to set up housekeeping in London for a time, to see the sights and, perhaps, to partake of some of the pleasures. I should be perfectly willing to accept your guidance in order to go about the thing properly, and I do not necessarily aspire to the heights. But I should like to experience life beyond the West Country and perhaps have a chance to meet someone suitable to marry. If my uncle could be persuaded to loosen his hold on my fortune at least to the point of granting me an allowance, I’m certain I could contrive to five within it. You wield a good deal of power, my lord, or so I have heard. If anyone could convince him, it would be yourself. I could never hope to do so unaided.”

  She waited expectantly, hoping she had struck the right note by appealing to him as a man of power, encouraged by the fact that he did not instantly refuse her. When he spoke, he seemed to choose his words with care. “You tell me you are no longer a schoolgirl, Miss Westering, and yet your behavior indicates that you are not very old. No doubt you have acted in haste and without forethought. Since you admit that your relatives treat you kindly, it would be improper of me to do anything other than restore you to their care. Whatever else I decide, they must certainly be informed at once of your whereabouts.”

  Inwardly burning at his rebuke, Catheryn reminded herself that true resourcefulness meant not giving up at the first sign of defeat. There were always other notes to strike. She straightened her shoulders, shedding the demure for the self-sufficient. “My lord, I am of age. Perhaps I have not behaved with all due propriety, but I am determined upon my course. Since you can do nothing to help me, I should be very grateful if you will recommend a reliable man of affairs who would at least look into the details of the trust for me.”

  “You misunderstand me, Miss Westering,” he countered smoothly. “I am not casting you off. I will certainly do all I can to help you protect yourself against an unwanted marriage and to see that your fortune is not used as a weapon against you. I’m not entirely convinced, however, that your uncle has any such intention. You cannot speak of his kindness on the one hand and accuse him on the other, you know. The matter must be properly investigated. You may trust me to see to it. As for allowing you to set up housekeeping in London, I shall certainly do nothing to further such a scheme. In that, you must be guided by your relatives.”

  Though grateful for the half loaf, she would have debated the last point had not the sound of voices in the hall arrested his attention. “I believe you are about to meet my mother, Miss Westering.”

  The doors flung wide and Elizabeth, Dowager Countess of Dambroke, hurried into the room with silk skirts rustling. She ignored her son, who had risen to his feet, and passed straight on to Catheryn. The countess was small and round and, though nearing the middle forties, still very pretty. Dressed in yellow with pale blue ribbons, she carried a light shawl over her arm and wore a frivolous lace cap with matching ribbons perched upon her soft brown curls. The cap ribbons fluttered as she approached, and the total effect was charming. Though rather awed by her ladyship’s entrance, Catheryn had stood up automatically when Dambroke did and now proceeded to make her graceful curtsey. Immediately the countess’s two soft hands stretched out to her.

  “Come, come, child! Stand up and let me look at you. I am Lady Dambroke, you know.” She raised Catheryn to her feet and, gazing straight into the dark eyes, demanded, “But who are you, my dear? My servants informed me only that Dambroke has been closeted for more than half an hour with an unknown girl. I had quite given up hope of his ever falling in love, I must tell you. And here he is inviting you to visit with never a word of it to me!”

  II

  CATHERYN BLUSHED FIERY RED and the earl interrupted hastily. “Mama, this is Miss Catheryn Westering, granddaughter of the late Sir Cedric Westering, my grandfather’s cousin.”

  “Yes, yes, Dambroke, but how did you meet her and why have you never mentioned her to me before?”

  The humor of the situation struck Catheryn as she watched the earl try to bring things into focus for his parent. “I met her here today, Mama. She has run away from home.”

  “How shocking!” The countess surveyed Catheryn more closely. “But how fortunate that she should choose to run here and at this particular moment!” Catheryn stared at the pair of them. Her ladyship seemed to be attempting a sort of silent communication with her son. He only looked grim. “Surely,” she insisted, “it’s the very thing! But come, child—Miss Westering, did you say?” Catheryn nodded, smiling shyly, too bemused to speak. She found her hands clasped tightly, and two bright blue eyes twinkled into her own. “You must come with me at once and tell me about yourself.”

  “Mama! Miss Westering belongs with her relatives. I have already explained to her that she must return at once.”

  But her ladyship seemed not a bit cast down by his harsh tone. “Nonsense, my dear. She cannot leave at once. How absurd! Order a bedchamber prepared for her immediately. She certainly cannot leave before morning, and perhaps we shall contrive to keep her for a short visit.” Noting his stern look and rigid jaw, her ladyship was moved to entreaty. “You must see, dear, that she is the answer to a prayer.” It was clear that he did not see. “Dambroke, only consider Tiffany!”

  “I have considered Tiffany more than enough for one day, madam. Where is she, by the way? I thought her to be with you.”<
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  “Oh no. She does not like Letty Mearing, you know. She was upstairs when I left, rather indisposed, poor dear.”

  “Sulking in her room, you mean,” retorted Dambroke in exasperated tones.

  “Very likely.” Her ladyship was unconcerned. “Nevertheless, she is quite cast down and needs a distraction. Miss Westering may be the very thing.”

  Catheryn felt a little like the ball at a tennis match but was fascinated by the dialogue and waited anxiously for his lordship’s response. He glanced in her direction and then looked straight into her eyes, his expression thoughtful. At last, he looked back at the countess.

  “There is a certain matter concerning Miss Westering that I should like Ashley to look into, and she did express a wish to remain in town for a while. She wishes to set up housekeeping on her own, however.”

  “But that would never do,” protested the countess. She smiled at Catheryn. “Really, my dear, it would not answer. You will be much more comfortable here with us. You will be excellent company for my daughter, and she will be delighted to show you just how to go on.”

  Catheryn liked the sprightly countess. “I should be pleased to stay, my lady, if his lordship will permit it.”

  Dambroke shrugged. “Very well,” he agreed. “Perhaps your relatives may be induced to allow you to remain here a short while as our guest. But do not look so overjoyed,” he added sternly. “I have not entirely capitulated, you know. Despite my mother’s confidence, I don’t know that it will answer her purpose. However, if you can distract my sister from what she feels to be the ills of her situation, I will thank you most sincerely. I shall use the time to look into the other matter, but you must write your aunt and uncle at once. You may tell them that my mother invites you to stay for a week or two. That should allay their anxiety, and if they agree, you are welcome.” He smiled faintly. “Perhaps a separation from your cousin will help you see his suit in a new light, too. Absence, the heart, and all that.”

  But Catheryn refused to think of Edmund at all. Her eyes were sparkling as she thanked Dambroke and agreed to write the letter. Lady Caston stood in awe of any title and would never refuse an invitation for her to visit a countess.

  Lady Dambroke spoke up. “I shall send a note of my own as well, Miss Westering.” She shot a look of triumph at her son. “Now, Richard, order a bedchamber for her, if you please, and tell Paulson that we shall want tea in the drawing room in twenty minutes. I shall send for Tiffany to come to us there.” She put her arm around Catheryn’s waist. “You shall tell us all your adventures, child. What a nice surprise you are, to be sure.”

  When they reached the drawing room, she sent a footman off to inform the Lady Tiffany that her presence was required. Catheryn appreciated the brief respite. Things had moved at whirlwind pace since her ladyship’s arrival, and she needed a chance to catch her breath.

  The drawing room was magnificent. It occupied much of the front half of the first floor and, despite the formality of yellow velvet curtains and gold-inlaid furnishings, the room had an atmosphere of cheerful warmth. Lady Dambroke’s workbasket and tambour frame sat beside one chair and a fire had been laid, ready to light, in the fireplace. Catheryn’s gaze came to rest upon the mantle clock, an exquisite creation by Godin of Paris, dated 1742. She learned later that it was one of the countess’s favorite pieces, to be found wherever she chanced to be at home. The face was supported by a flower-bedecked ormolu branch under which stood two porcelain Oriental figures, the taller draped in flowing Mandarin robes and the other, short and round, dressed in the trousers and loose-roped shirt of a peddler, a bulging pack slung jauntily over his shoulder. Both men seemed to be sharing some joke or other, their merriment so vividly expressed that anyone looking upon them found cause at least to smile. Catheryn chuckled just as the countess turned from dismissing her footman upon his errand.

  “Amusing, are they not?” she smiled. “But now, my dear, tell me about yourself. I declare I’ve not had such a diversion in an age.” She settled upon a sofa and patted the cushion invitingly.

  Laughing, Catheryn sat and, in less than ten minutes, had put her in possession of the pertinent facts of her recent history. When she came to the point of her arrival at Dambroke House, the countess interrupted.

  “Never mind the rest, my dear.” Her eyes sparkled. “I can well imagine Dambroke’s reaction to your tale. Just like his father before him, he can be most punctilious with regard to the women of his family and must always look first to the proprieties. I daresay he lectured you about your lack of a proper attendant.”

  “Yes, my lady, he did, and I know it was very wrong.”

  “Well, there’s no need to refine too much upon it,” Lady Dambroke remarked comfortably. “I quite understand why you felt you must leave Caston Manor and, though I cannot applaud your methods, I shall contrive to overlook them.” She patted Catheryn’s knee. “It is not as bad as it might be. At least you had the sense to complete the journey in a single day. A night spent on the road would alter the thing considerably. But that is as may be and no use discussing further. You are most welcome here, my dear. I should like to keep you a good long time, but Dambroke must be made to think it his own idea, and that will take a bit of scheming.” She paused, brows knit, affording Catheryn the opportunity to point out that Sir Horace Caston must likewise be convinced.

  “I’ve no wish to hang on your sleeve or to become a bone of contention between you and his lordship, ma’am. I am certain he would object strenuously to my making a visit of indeterminate length without my uncle’s full support. Besides, what would you do with me?”

  “Do with you! Why, you foolish child, I shall present you!” When Catheryn stared in amazement, she went on, “Yes, introduce you to everyone! The best way to avoid marriage to your Edmund is to contract it with another. In order to do that, you must meet other men. I can certainly arrange that. Of course, I cannot promise a brilliant match,” she cautioned, “but there must be any number of suitable young men in London.”

  Catheryn was sitting bolt upright by this time, her eyes wide with astonishment. “But, my lady, I’ve not a feather to fly with unless Lord Dambroke can pry some of my fortune away from Sir Horace!”

  The countess waved the objection away with an airy gesture. “’Tis of no consequence. We shall contrive.”

  Feeling that her wildest dreams were in a fair way to coming true, Catheryn nevertheless won a battle with her baser instincts and forced words of expostulation. “My dear ma’am, you cannot wish to saddle yourself with me in such a course. It would cut up all your peace. And the expense! The clothes I have are unfashionable beyond belief, and even if Uncle Horace were to allow me access to my money, I doubt I could afford all I should need. There is your own daughter to be considered as well. What would she think?”

  “I can do nothing with Tiffany, my dear. Dambroke is her guardian and said only today that he will not allow her to marry yet a while. Besides, I don’t much like her, and I think I like you very well.” Catheryn’s shock was evident, and the countess continued hastily, “Please don’t think I do not love all my children. I do, truly. Only, Tiffany has become excessively spoiled of late and makes me uncomfortable. She was used to be such a cheerful, sprightly child until she inherited a prodigious fortune from her godmother and began to think herself a great heiress who can do as she pleases. She and Dambroke come to cuffs all the time. He is very strict with her, you see, and she flouts his authority constantly. When I consider how upset I was to discover that my husband had named Richard guardian, instead of myself, I can scarce believe it now. That was five years ago,” she added with a sigh.

  “But he must have been very young for so much responsibility!” Catheryn exclaimed.

  “Indeed, and it shows. He used to laugh so easily and liked a lark as much as any of his friends. But he found the responsibility a heavy burden, I’m afraid, and has changed a good deal. He laughs less, seems much more rigid, even perhaps a bit arrogant at times, thou
gh I should not say so.” She sighed again. “If only Tiffany would take a liking to you, it would give her someone to think of besides herself. I assure you that, if that happens, it may be enough to convince Dambroke to let you stay indefinitely!”

  Catheryn was spared the necessity of commenting by the entrance of two footmen with the tea service. She noted with approval that the countess believed in doing the thing lavishly. There were little sandwiches filled with crabmeat, or ham and cucumber, and colorfully iced cakes. She sighed with pleasure. “Shall I pour out for you, my lady?”

  “Thank you, dear.” The countess turned to the footman who had answered her bell earlier. “Morris, did you convey my message to Lady Tiffany?”

  “Yes, my lady. Her abigail informed me that her ladyship is indisposed but that she would attempt—”

  “Drat the girl! Still sulking, I make no doubt. Go and say that she is to compose herself at once and come down to meet her cousin. If she still seems recalcitrant, you may hint that his lordship will not approve such rag manners. Do you understand me, Morris?” His face carefully blank, the footman bowed and left the room.

  When they were alone again, Catheryn said, “If she is out of sorts, my lady, perhaps it would be kinder to put off our meeting.” What she had heard so far left her with little desire to meet Lady Tiffany. Surely, it could wait till she finished this lovely tea!

  “Nonsense, Miss Westering. My daughter is merely indulging in a fit of sulks. She and Dambroke had an altercation this morning, and I fear she was sadly worsted. I wasn’t present, of course. I find such scenes excessively unpleasant. I do know she fled the library in tears, however—certainly not a sign that she came off very well, do you not agree?”

  “To be sure, my lady. Would it be impertinent of me to ask what caused the altercation?”

  “Of course not, Miss Westering—oh, how silly! Here I am treating you as quite one of the family and still calling you Miss Westering. You will not mind if I call you Catheryn, will you, my dear?” Catheryn shook her head, smiling. “Good. And let me hear no more miladies from you. You shall call me Aunt Elizabeth!”