by Amanda Scott
He nodded. “Will you bring me something?” The limpid gaze clearly expressed his confidence that, if she would sympathize with any part of his predicament, it would be with the fact that he might very likely starve before morning.
Catheryn grinned, shaking her head. “Not if he says I mustn’t, scamp. But he may neglect to mention it.” Teddy didn’t look as though he had great hopes of such a lapse occurring, and she watched him go on upstairs, mentally damning the earl for his lack of patience. Just when things had begun to go well between them, he had to spoil everything by losing his temper. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became, and by the time she reached the library, her own temper had approached its zenith. Ignoring Walter, who stepped hastily forward to open the doors for her, she strode without ceremony into the room. Her precipitate entry brought Dambroke scrambling to his feet.
“Catheryn! What is it? Has something happened?”
“Indeed, my lord!” she snapped. She would have continued, but he cut in smoothly, signing to the wide-eyed footman still on the threshold to remove himself.
“Won’t you sit down, Cousin, so that we may discuss whatever it is in a calm and rational manner?”
“I never sit when I am in a rage, Lord Dambroke, and I do not wish to be calm. Whatever possessed you to order that poor child off to the country?”
He frowned but kept his own voice level. “So that’s it.
I should have known. It is not your concern, Cousin.”
“Not my concern!” She clenched her fists into her skirt. “How can you say so, when you asked me to befriend him! What kind of friend would I be if I did not do my utmost to stop this ridiculous nonsense? I cannot allow Teddy to become a victim of your stupid temper, sir. He did nothing more than smack a boy who wanted smacking. Anyone with an ounce of pride would have done the same thing with similar provocation, but instead of supporting him as you should, you pack him off to the country because he has embarrassed you again.”
“You know nothing about it!” Dambroke snapped. “The boy’s nose may be broken, and I’ve received a very impertinent note from Elman regretting that Edward is no longer welcome in his house. I warned him what would happen if he indulged in any more fisticuffs. He leaves tomorrow, and that’s the end of it!”
“So we reach the heart of the matter,” Catheryn said scornfully, “and it’s just as I thought. You are not nearly so angry about the fight between the two boys as you are about the embarrassment of so-called impertinence from a mere baron. A man dares to take umbrage at the fact that your brother flattened his son—a boy, I might remind you, who is both older and larger than Teddy and who should have known better than to taunt him. And do you exert yourself to explain the circumstances to Lord Elman? No, sir! You choose instead to punish a boy who was only defending his honor. And yours as well!”
“What the devil had my honor to do with anything?”
She paused, cursing her unruly tongue. But perhaps it would help him to see the situation more clearly. “The Elman boy said Teddy lied about your skill with a pistol,” she said flatly. “That’s why he hit him.” She thought Dambroke looked a bit taken aback and hoped briefly that he might reconsider.
“That’s very illuminating,” he said finally, “however, the cause of the fight does not signify in the slightest. The only pertinent fact is that the boy disobeyed me.”
“A scold would have been sufficient, my lord. The whipping was unnecessary, and sending him to the country is outrageous. You knew he despised the Elmans before you sent him there, so you are as much to blame as he is. But, for this one indiscretion, you exert the full force of your authority.” Her voice trailed off on the last word, arrested by something in his expression. The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but she was sorry when he ended it, for his voice hardened with a bone-chilling note that she had never heard in it before.
“One indiscretion, Catheryn? Are you certain you mean to say that? Perhaps I have mistaken your integrity. I quite realize that I am not supposed to know of anything else, but do you mean to stand before me and insist, in all honesty, that Edward’s behavior has been above reproach this week?”
She had the grace to blush. “Perhaps not, my lord.”
“Indeed, and while we are on the subject, let me tell you, miss, that I do not approve the example you have set by practicing deceit, conspiracy, and other such underhand tactics. Oh, don’t look so shocked. The terms may be severe, but you are guilty, my girl, and you know it!”
“I only tried to protect Teddy, my lord. I don’t know what specific actions you condemn, so I am unable to defend myself.” She spoke calmly enough, but her heart was poundings and she felt curiously weak. How had he turned the tables so easily to put her in the wrong? His anger before had stimulated her; now it was frightening.
“In plainer language,” he said grimly, “there have been so many incidents that you don’t know what I have discovered. Isn’t that it?” She could only be grateful that he didn’t wait for an answer. “I won’t take advantage of your ignorance. Landon was with me when I received Elman’s note. He made a comment that seemed a bit suspicious, and I soon had a round tale of Tony’s mishap out of him. It took little effort after that to learn about the salt and the dead rat.”
“They were only boyish pranks, my lord!”
“I agree. Nonetheless, Edward must learn to conduct himself in a more proper style, and I won’t have this house turned upside down in the meantime. He goes to the Park. I shall find a tutor for him there, and we’ll join him in a few weeks. But for the present—”
“For the present,” Catheryn interrupted, her anger with him overcoming any other emotion, “the great Earl of Dambroke must not be embarrassed! You could deal with Teddy right here, if you would exert yourself, for he loves you. But you cannot see what is under your nose, so you push him off to the Park to get him out of the way. By heaven, my lord, I believe you have greater patience with your horses!”
“Catheryn!” he exploded. “That will do! He’s going because I promised to send him if he did not behave. That is the long and short of it. We shall discuss it no further!”
She realized he meant what he said and feared he would put her out bodily if she persisted, so, muttering wrathful things to herself, she turned on her heel and left the room. Halfway up the first flight of stairs, however, the echo of her words and his anger came back to her, and she looked over her shoulder almost expecting to find him at her heels. The hall was reassuringly empty. How had she dared to speak to him so, when he could send her away quite as easily as he was sending Teddy? Despite the fact that she had come to feel at home here, she was still no more than a guest in his house. Although, now that she came to think of it, he had not treated her as a guest. He had been amazingly angry himself. To a guest he would have been coldly polite, and he had not been polite at all. She smiled, her good humor oddly restored by the thought.
Catheryn was not one to tilt at windmills, nor to hold a grudge. Dambroke’s final words had shown her that her cause was lost. Men could be so stubborn in matters of principle. If he had threatened Teddy earlier with exile to the country, he would believe himself committed now. Personally, she thought it a stupid way of doing things. One should always consider the ramifications of one’s decisions. That she did not always do so herself was a mere bagatelle not worth considering. Dambroke should know better. Teddy would be better off in London under his eye than up to who knew what at Dambroke Park.
At least he had not forbidden her to visit the boy. Suiting thought to deed, she hurried down to the kitchen, piled a tray with various delicacies and, with a saucy smile to the scandalized chef, carried it upstairs to a grateful Teddy before returning to her own room to prepare for the evening ahead.
XII
THE COUNTESS’S BALL WAS a success. After a magnificent dinner, the rest of the guests began to arrive, and Catheryn and Tiffany stood with the earl and the countess to receive them until the orchestra began to make
tentative noises. Tiffany announced that she wanted to refresh herself before the dancing began, so Catheryn went ahead to the ballroom, escorted by Edmund. He soon left her to join Lady Prudence, and any lingering doubt Catheryn may have had about their developing relationship was put to rest by the ease of manner between Mr. Caston and Prudence’s father. The light in Edmund’s eye and the tenderness in his lady’s meant a good deal, but these signs were as nothing compared to the duke’s attitude, for the success of Edmund’s suit depended entirely upon his grace’s good will.
“Good evening, Miss Westering. A splendid dinner!”
“Indeed, Captain Varling.” She smiled at him. “Jean-Pierre excelled himself.”
“He is always to be relied upon. I only wish the same might be said of our Auguste. He is so puffed up in his own conceit that he exerts himself only for affairs like this one.”
Catheryn laughed. “If you had tasted one or two meals here this past week, you would not commend Jean-Pierre so highly. It was not lack of hospitality that kept the countess from inviting you to dine, sir.”
“Enough!” he exclaimed. “Spare me my illusions. Besides, I’ve been ungallant to mention food at all before informing you that you look prodigiously charming this evening. My sister has taught me better manners, I assure you. I like that dress.” She thanked him with a demure twinkle. “I mean it,” he insisted. “That color becomes you. Ah!”
Lady Tiffany had entered the ballroom. Her dress was white, for the simple reason that the countess had insisted upon it. But the young beauty had rebelled at wearing the stark white of the debutante, insisting that it was not necessary so near the end of the season. A compromise had been contrived in a gown of beautiful white lace over an underskirt of sapphire-blue satin with matching sash and sapphires for her neck, wrists, and ears. The result was guaranteed to stun every gentleman at the ball; nevertheless, Catheryn was delighted to hear Varling’s exclamation. She knew they were partnered for the first set, while she was to dance, ironically enough, with Mr. Lawrence. He had asked her ladyship first and Catheryn as a semipolite afterthought. Tiffany had allowed him to sign her card for the first and third country dances but refused his arch suggestion of a third dance on the grounds of impropriety and the likelihood of arousing Dambroke’s displeasure. Lawrence had been visibly annoyed and Catheryn, seeing the younger girl’s dance card a few days later, wondered rather wickedly how he would react to the fact that Captain Varling had been granted three dances, including the supper dance.
The captain excused himself. “I fear to see her ladyship snatched from beneath my very nose if I tarry.”
Catheryn’s chuckle was lost as he made a hasty bow and set off to claim his partner. Tiffany’s eyes glowed at his approach, and Catheryn started at the sound of a harshly indrawn breath at her side. She turned to find Lawrence staring at the other couple, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and color draining from his face. Momentarily chilled by his expression, she gradually relaxed as he became aware of her attention and exerted himself to be pleasing. By the time her next partner arrived to claim her hand, the incident had slipped to the nether regions of her mind.
As the evening progressed and she bowed first to one friend and then another, Catheryn realized that she had acquired many since her arrival in London. Thanks to the Dambroke support, she had been easily accepted into their world and was amazed at how comfortable she found it She loved the excitement and fast pace of the city, the parties, and the people. Her life had taken on a certain dreamlike quality for the moment, but she knew the novelty would wear off and wondered if she would long then for the peace and quiet of the country.
Mr. Brummell claimed her for a waltz and, as they swung onto the floor, Catheryn nearly missed her step. The Beau followed her gaze to where Edmund Caston danced with Lady Prudence. He smiled vaguely. “That’s quite old news, Miss Westering. You must know they have been an on dit this week and longer.”
“But Edmund is waltzing, sir! Just as though he never disapproved of it at all!”
“So he is,” the Beau admitted, adding that Mr. Caston must have taken lessons, since he was doing the thing quite well. He spoke again a moment later, but Catheryn’s reply was nearly absentminded as she watched the other couple.
“He seems so relaxed, so un-Edmundlike.”
“The match will undoubtedly be the making of him.” Brummell’s tone was acid and Catheryn, quick to hear it, dimpled up at him.
“I beg your pardon, sir. I am boring you.”
“Admitting a fault merely compounds the original error, Miss Westering,” he replied sweetly.
She chuckled her appreciation. “My cousin’s affairs must always interest me, sir, but I should not dwell upon them in your presence. I hope you will forgive me.”
“Of course.” He whirled her through an intricate pattern and into the closing steps of the dance, bringing her up breathless and laughing. Brummell smiled and then his attention was diverted to a point behind her. “I believe your next partner is impatient, ma’am. Your servant, my lord.”
Catheryn turned to find Dambroke behind her. Some days before, he had scrawled his name for the set of country dances now forming as well as for the supper dance, but she had not spoken with him all evening. Seeing him now, she began to feel the same weakness she had felt earlier standing in front of his desk. The company smile with which he greeted her did not conceal an anxious look in his eye, and she scarcely noticed Mr. Brummell’s departure.
“Do you mind very much if we do not dance, Catheryn?”
“Not at all, my lord,” she answered with equal politeness. “Mr. Brummell has quite worn me out.”
“Will you walk with me in the garden, or are you so tired that you would prefer to sit while I fetch some ratafia? Or, no, you prefer lemonade, if I remember correctly.” He quirked an eyebrow and she chuckled. Dambroke relaxed. “I was afraid you were still vexed with me.”
“Me too. That you were with me, I mean.”
“I’m not. Shall it be the garden or the lemonade?”
“The garden. Some fresh air would be delightful.” She glanced around. “I hope I’ve not offended Mr. Brummell again.”
“Again?” She let him place her hand in the crook of his arm and, as they walked, began to tell him of her conversation with the Beau, thinking it would amuse him.
French windows at the end of the ballroom led onto a wide balcony with steps at either end leading down to the gardens. Torches had been placed in strategic areas, both to light the way for casual roamers and—in the countess’s words—to deter the more outrageous young men from certain amorous strategies. When they reached the garden, Dambroke guided her to a marble bench and indicated that she should sit. He had not laughed at her tale. “I doubt he is offended,” he said, “but since he has chosen to notice you, you must be careful, my dear. Should you truly offend him, he might cut the connection.”
“I should survive it, my lord,” she smiled.
“No doubt,” he replied quietly. “But it could ruin you socially. Brummell still wields great influence. Not only do his tailor and bootmaker fear to dun him, lest he take his custom elsewhere, but no hostess who values his opinion would dare invite anyone he dislikes to a function honored by his presence.”
“I see.” She was thoughtful for a moment. “I shall have a care, my lord, while I remain in London.”
“While you remain?” He sounded surprised.
Catheryn smiled. “I should like to stay, of course, and I should still like to set up housekeeping here. But although Edmund has said he will speak to my uncle, I doubt he will grant me an allowance large enough for the purpose, so I shall no doubt be returning to Somerset soon. I cannot remain indefinitely as your mother’s guest, you know.” He was silent. “Shall we walk again, my lord? It grows chilly.”
Obligingly, he rose and took her hand again, but he remained silent and Catheryn lapsed into her own thoughts. She wondered briefly if anyone would comment on their absence. It was usele
ss to hope no one had noticed. Dambroke was too great a matrimonial prize. She glanced up at his profile. He looked stern, almost forbidding, even under the softening rays of the golden moon shining above. It was not a full moon, more shame to it, but romantic enough at three-quarters. Nevertheless, it did nothing to make his profile look more loverlike. She thought him handsome but acknowledged that with the firm, sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and deepset eyes, his features were too harsh ever to allow him to look like one of the romantic heroes of literature. But then, most of those heroes were probably a bit on the soppy side, now she came to think of it.
“Must I raise the bid to a guinea?”
Jolted out of her reverie, Catheryn stammered, “Wh-what? I mean, I beg your pardon, my lord. Did you speak?”
“I merely offered the proverbial penny.”
“Penny? Oh!” Flaming warmth swept across her face, and she had cause to be grateful to the gentle moonlight. Fighting her blushes, she took a deep breath, exerting herself to control her voice. “I’m sorry, sir. I was but daydreaming. My thoughts are scarcely worth your penny, let alone a guinea.”
“Do you not trust me, little one, or is it that you are still angry with me in spite of your denial?”
Little one! “I believe the music has stopped, my lord,” she said stupidly.
“So it has. You evade my question.”
“I am not angry, my lord,” she muttered.
“You were.”
“Amazingly,” she agreed. “Gentlemen are so idiotish.”
“I beg your pardon!”
“Well, they are,” she insisted, glad to pursue a subject she had hoped to avoid, since she wanted so much more to avoid the subject of her private thoughts. “Men always set such store by their own words. You are punishing Teddy because of something you said. It would make more sense to me if Teddy were being sent away because of a promise he made to you rather than one you made to him. Oh, I don’t make any sense! Do you understand me?”
