by Amanda Scott
Lady Jersey tapped his arm with her silver fan. “Am I to understand that Miss Westering will not dance the waltz or will not dance with you without approval?” When he looked more than ready to enter into repartee on the subject, she laughed and said, “Very well, devil. I daresay you’d only drag her onto the floor willy-nilly and ruin her reputation for her if I denied you. My blessing, Miss Westering.”
Catheryn thanked her and she waved them off. Dambroke swept Catheryn into the dance without further comment. She peeped up at him from under her lashes, following his lead without as much difficulty as she had expected and fully enjoying the feel of his arm about her waist. “Would you really, sir?”
He looked down at her. His face was stern again and his thoughts seemed distant. “Would I what?”
“Drag me willy-nilly?”
“Of course not,” he scorned. “Lady Jersey is a foolish woman who likes her men to be rakes and devils, that’s all.” He frowned again and was silent. Deciding they were making no progress, Catheryn pushed to the heart of the matter.
“Have you murdered her?” she asked sweetly.
“Very nearly.” The reply was stiff and Catheryn was suddenly fearful.
“Dambroke, you didn’t … you didn’t beat her!”
The earl looked surprised, but then a smile crept to his lips. “No, Catheryn, I didn’t beat her, though I think,” he added with a reminiscent gleam, “I came as near to doing so as I ever shall, and she knew it.”
Much relieved, Catheryn followed him carefully through an intricate step before asking what he had done.
“Gave her a trimming she won’t forget in a hurry and ordered her off to bed.” He sighed, relaxing. “But I didn’t dance with you to talk about my misbegotten sister.”
“Did you not? Then why?”
“Because I wasn’t in a mood to be social and I had to dance with someone, or some well-meaning tabby would have presented me with a partner. I’d forgot about the waltzing,” he added apologetically.
“That’s all right now.” She was amused. “Tell me something, my lord. Are you at all successful with the fair sex?”
He choked. “I beg your pardon!”
“Granted.”
He shook his head, laughing. “You know very well what I meant, Catheryn. Such questions are not at all proper.”
“Well, I did wonder,” she replied in a musing tone, “since your answer to my last question was not what I have been led to expect from a gentleman.”
He thought back to what he had said. “Oh, did you take snuff at that? I do beg your pardon, then, for I never meant to offend you.”
“One should never trifle with a lady’s sensibilities, my lord,” she advised primly, adding, “and you are very free with my name tonight, sir.”
He laughed again. “Nonsense! And for your information, I am accounted an expert in my affairs with the gentle sex.”
“Ah, yes,” she returned sagely, “your bits of muslin, birds of paradise, opera dancers”.
“Catheryn!”
She dimpled at his warning tone, and he gave it up, changing the subject abruptly. When the music stopped he grinned, speaking in an undertone. “If it affords you any satisfaction, little witch, I accomplished all I’d hoped by dancing with you. I thank you most sincerely.”
Lady Dambroke looked a bit flustered when he restored a glowing Catheryn to her side, but his easy smile reassured her. “I’m glad you were able to get back in time, Dambroke,” she said with a searching look. “I have just been telling Letty,” indicating the plump, be spangled matron at her side, “that poor Tiffany was taken ill and … and …”
“And is devastated to miss the Assembly, ma’am,” said his lordship, stepping into the breech with aplomb. “How do you do, Lady Mearing? She has taken to her bed, Mama, and should be much improved within a day or two.” He soon took his leave, retiring after a dance or two more to the card room, where he lingered until Lady Dambroke sent to inform him that they were ready to leave.
Next morning Catheryn slept late and, by the time she had dressed, it was nearly noon. Mary informed her that Tiffany was still in her bedchamber and had just ordered breakfast, suggesting that she might enjoy Catheryn’s company. Catheryn agreed with a sinking feeling, for she preferred her meals unaccompanied by tragedy scenes.
Tiffany was sitting on the bed with her knees tucked up when she entered, and eyed her a bit warily. “Have you come to scold me, too?” she asked with a sullen look. Her eyes were red from weeping and had deep purple circles under them.
“No, of course not,” Catheryn replied cheerfully. “I’ve come to have breakfast with you.”
“Oh.”
This response not being particularly encouraging, Catheryn determined to get over the heavy ground as quickly as possible. She settled into the comfortable silk chair. “Whatever possessed you, Tiffany?”
“I knew you meant to scold.”
“Don’t be nonsensical. It’s not my business to scold you. Besides, I’m sure Dambroke has done a thorough job of it.”
“Oh, Catheryn, the things he said!” Tears welled up in her eyes. “He was furious. He said … he said I …” The tears spilled over as her voice broke.
Catheryn had come prepared and handed her a cambric handkerchief, saying practically, “Well, of course he was angry, Tiffany. What else could you expect?”
“I never meant him to know!” Tiffany wailed. “He was supposed to spend the evening with Tony—Captain Varling—and I only did it because I was angry that he wouldn’t let me have the new gown. I knew Mama wouldn’t tell him.”
“But surely someone else would have done so!”
“They never did before.” Catheryn’s mouth dropped open with astonishment. “Oh, I never did it so much before, nor with such a neckline—only a bit here and there to make a skirt hang properly.” Tiffany’s words were punctuated with sobs and hiccoughs, but under Catheryn’s steady serenity and lack of overt sympathy, she began to control herself. “I suppose I overdid it last night, but I only damped the petticoat, not the dress itself. It was daring, I-I know, but it really wasn’t so bad when we left. I was as amazed as anything when Richard m-made me look at myself in the long glass. It was ever so much worse than I thought!” She choked back another sob.
Catheryn chuckled. “What a peagoose you are, to be sure. By the time we reached Almack’s, you idiotish child, the damp from your petticoat had soaked through the dress itself. Under that heavy cape it must have been like a Roman bath. It’s no wonder you looked like, well like a….”
“Like a Haymarket d-doxy, is what R-Richard said. He hates me, Catheryn. He will never forgive m-me!”
“Oh, piffle, as you like to say,” Catheryn retorted. “He should not have said that, but he will recover and so will you.” She fell silent when two maidservants entered with breakfast trays, but once they had gone she offered a suggestion. “What you need is fresh air. Why do we not have Psyche and Angel out for a ride in the park?”
“I can’t.” The tone was bitter. “Richard ordered me to keep to my bedchamber, lest I inadvertently meet some caller and give the lie to that story he told about my being taken ill. Not,” she added gruffly, “that anyone will believe it. We met Maggie and Lady Stanthorpe just before we reached the carnage. They could see how angry he was!”
“I don’t know about that,” Catheryn said thoughtfully. “It seems to me it would annoy a gentleman to discover his sister was hiding an illness just to go to a dance. Especially if she were overcome just as they arrived and he had to turn right around and take her home again. And I daresay it’s not unusual for a girl in her first season to do just that sort of thing.”
Tiffany seemed much struck by this line of reasoning. “Catheryn, that’s very true. They might believe that.”
“I think they might,” Catheryn agreed, “however, as to staying inside, I’m afraid he’s right. It would never do to be seen when you are supposed to be ill. Besides,” she added in her blun
t way, “you look wretched.”
She was rewarded with a sardonic smile. “Thank you, Cousin. I really don’t mind staying here. I just wish I had something to do.”
“Easy enough! I’ll fetch Mrs. Radcliffe and we’ll finish the tale together. I’m feeling rather lazy myself.” So, when they finished breakfast, Catheryn whisked down to the drawing room to fetch the novel. She had just turned back upstairs when Michael, the youngest footman, hurried toward her with the information that his lordship wanted to see her in the library at once. She handed him the book, asking that he take it along with her apologies to the Lady Tiffany. Entering the library a few moments later, she stopped short in astonishment.
“Good afternoon, Cousin,” said Edmund Caston.
VII
CATHERYN RETURNED MR. CASTON’S cool greeting and seated herself in a small oval-backed chair, carefully ignoring Dambroke’s look of lazy amusement. “What brings you to town, Edmund?” she inquired.
Caston sat near the fireplace. He seemed surprised by her question. “Why, I’ve come to fetch you home, of course. I’ve been explaining to his lordship.” He nodded toward Dambroke, who was now leaning back in his desk chair, hands folded across his waistcoat. “Mother is much distressed by your hoydenish behavior, and Father absolutely refuses to frank this outrageous start of yours.”
Dambroke flicked at a letter on the desk. “Your uncle’s answer, Catheryn. It’s rather brief but essentially it’s just as Mr. Caston has told you. Sir Horace adds only that he would consider himself derelict in his duty as your trustee if he allowed you to squander your inheritance on frivolities.”
“I see.” Catheryn was still for a moment, stunned by the news. She had been nearly certain that, rather than have her financially beholden to the countess, Sir Horace would make her an adequate allowance. Instead, he seemed to have dug in his heels, expecting no doubt that by refusing his support he would compel her return to Somerset. She realized her hands were gripped in her lap so tightly that her knuckles were white, and forced herself to relax. Taking a deep breath, she spoke directly to Mr. Caston. “I’m sorry Aunt Agatha has been distressed, for I am fond of her, but she agreed that I might stay, and I shall not return with you, Edmund.” She glanced at the earl, but his expression had not changed.
Mr. Caston, on the other hand, showed signs of a rising temper. Of medium height with a figure solidly muscled by years in the saddle, he was, at twenty-six, generally a placid man. At the moment, however, his fine light brown hair was disordered where he had shoved a frustrated hand through it, his jaw was rigid, his toffee-brown eyes flashed, and his voice was tight.
“Don’t be fatuous, Catheryn. You have had nearly a fortnight in town, though you’ve no business to be here at all, and it’s time to come home. No doubt, you are apprehensive of reprimand, and I cannot deny that my parents and I are displeased. However, that will pass, and now that you have seen the metropolis, perhaps you will be content in future to remain at home.” He permitted himself a smile. “We are not buried there, after all. We often avail ourselves of the cultural advantages permitted by the proximity of Bath.”
Dambroke blinked. Catheryn was used to Edmund’s manner of speech and had been on the verge of losing her temper, but the earl’s rather obvious reaction amused her and helped restore her self-control. She spoke evenly. “Edmund, Lady Dambroke has generously asked me to stay, and I’ve no immediate intention of leaving. I know you think me ungrateful, even wicked, but—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupted. “You are not wicked, my dear, merely thoughtless and a bit flighty. Living with your grandfather so long with no proper female guidance … but we have been over this ground before, have we not? Besides, we impose upon his lordship. You will return post with me tomorrow, and I’ll tolerate no further argument on the subject. If we depart before noon, we shall be only the one night on the road. I shall call for you at eleven.” Clearly believing the interview ended, he began to rise from his chair. Catheryn opened her mouth in angry protest but shut it again when help came from an unexpected quarter.
“I think not, Mr. Caston.” Dambroke’s voice held a note of surprise. “It would be most improper, you know.”
Edmund was on his feet and turned to the earl a bit stiffly. “There is nothing improper about it, my lord. Miss Westering and I are by way of being betrothed, and … and we shall have Ditchling as well, of course,” he added hastily as Catheryn, outraged, leaped to her feet.
“How dare you, Edmund!” she cried. “We are not by way or in any way betrothed, and we never shall be! You have no right to make such a statement, to tell such, such—”
“Sit down, Catheryn.” The earl’s voice cut easily into her diatribe, though he did not raise it. Glaring at him and still muttering under her breath, she obeyed. “If you have quite composed yourself, Miss Westering,” he went on blandly, “we shall continue this discussion in a civilized manner.” She cast him a speaking glance but subsided.
“Thank you, my lord.” Caston allowed himself a brief, man-to-man smile and sank back to his own chair. “As you see, she is just as I described her—quick-tempered and impulsive. Her very flight to London is sufficient evidence of that, of course. Surely, you must concur that her proper place is in Somerset under my parents’ protection.”
“Tommyrot!” cried Catheryn before the earl could speak. “You make me sound mentally deficient. Your parents’ protection indeed! Aunt Agatha would cheerfully be rid of me if you had not convinced her that you want me for your wife. I never understood why before, but of course Uncle Daniel’s fortune is the reason. Between you, you and Uncle Horace conspired to keep it in the family. I should never even have known of it, had you not suffered a slip of the tongue!”
He was instantly indignant. “That’s not true, Catheryn, and you know it! I’ve even had recent second thoughts regarding our marriage, but I decided to overlook this escapade, not because of any interest in your fortune, but because I thought that, with patience and understanding, you might still be brought to a sense of proper conduct.”
Catheryn spluttered but was again forestalled by the earl, who leaned across his desk and spoke rather sharply. “I think this has gone far enough for the moment. No, Catheryn,” as she began to protest “you cannot discuss these matters in so heated a fashion. Not at any rate, in my library. Mr. Caston, my mother means to keep Miss Westering here for the entire season, though it is possible that she did not make that clear when she wrote Lady Caston.” Catheryn stared at Dambroke in amazement, but he pointedly ignored her. “I am sorry Sir Horace has not seen fit to release some of her funds to her own use,” he went on, “but that need concern neither her nor you. She is welcome here and will want for nothing while she is my mother’s guest. I see no reason at this point why she should return to Caston Manor and a number of reasons why she should not do so in your sole company.”
“But, my lord!”
“Now,” Dambroke continued as though there had been no interruption, “I have several things to say. First, Miss Westering.” She looked up, biting her lip at his stern tone. “You will discuss this further with Mr. Caston at a more appropriate time. When you have thought matters over, I think you will come to respect the fact that, rather than conspiring against you, he and his father were merely conforming to your grandfather’s wishes. And you, sir, will also give thought to the matter. I think you will see that Miss Westering, female or not, ought to have been informed of the trust, if not upon the occasion of her grandfather’s death, then certainly when she came of age. If nothing else, telling her would have avoided the development of such suspicions as she now harbors. Where are you putting up in town?” he asked abruptly.
“At … at Grillon’s, my lord, but—”
“Is there any reason for your immediate return home?”
“No, my lord, my father has things in hand, but—”
“In that case, I suggest you take some time to acquaint yourself with London. You may either continue at your hote
l, which is a very good one, or you may have your gear brought here. We should be pleased to have you as our guest.”
“Oh no, sir, I could not impose! If I remain, I shall certainly continue with Grillon’s. However, I would much prefer to settle matters now. My parents expect—”
“Mr. Caston, use a modicum of sense,” interrupted the earl sharply. “Miss Westering is of age. You cannot drag her back to Somerset against her will. You are not yet her husband, you know, and if the two of you persist in your present moods, you will end by not speaking to each other at all. I doubt if either of you wants that.” He paused, letting his words take effect. Catheryn remained silent. Glancing first at her and then back at the earl, Mr. Caston let out a long breath.
“There is much in what you say, my lord.” He rose to his feet. “I shall defer my departure for a few days at least.” He took a step toward Catheryn. “Cousin, perhaps I have been peremptory. I had no wish to offend you.”
She stood, speaking stiffly. “We have always come easily to cuffs, Edmund. Perhaps I, too, was hasty.”
He turned to take his leave of the earl. “I thank you for the solicitude you have shown her, my lord.”
“My pleasure. I have a suggestion, or rather an invitation, Mr. Caston.” He smiled his lazy smile. “My mother gives a dress ball the end of next week. I know she would be pleased to have you as one of the company.”
“As to that, I cannot say, my lord, though I’m much obliged and would be honored to attend should I still be in town. Thank you and good day.”
When he had gone, Catheryn fixed a wary eye upon his lordship. He seemed amused. “Your Edmund,” he said, “seems an excellent young man. He will make you a fine husband one day.”
She flared up immediately. “Of all the crack-brained things to say! I suppose you believe him about the money, too!”
