A Lady of Hidden Intent

by Tracie Peterson

  “At this point, there is nothing to do. I have been working to save money in hopes of acquiring proper representation for my father—that somehow the truth might come to light.”

  “Well, you should know that I have a nice-sized bonus planned for you. As soon as all of the gowns are paid in full, I will give you that money.”

  “Thank you.” Catherine felt a great sense of relief in having told Mrs. Clarkson the truth. A fleeting thought caused her to wonder if she could offer Carter Danby the same explanation and receive his understanding as well. After all, she was almost certain he remembered her now. His behavior at the Arlington dinner table suggested as much.

  “What prompted you now to give me this information?”Mrs. Clarkson asked.

  Surprised by the question, Catherine blurted out the truth.

  “Apparently Felicia wishes to see me ousted. There have been rumors that she knows something and plans to use it against me.

  I couldn’t be certain that she hadn’t overheard my conversations with Selma and Dugan.”

  “I see. Well, you leave that to me. I shall deal with Felicia should the need arise.”

  Catherine got to her feet, as did Mrs. Clarkson. “You have been very good to me,” she told the older woman. “I have enjoyed working with my hands. I never had reason to believe I should ever have to earn a living for myself, but I have not regretted it. Were it not for my father’s pain and suffering, I might have truly enjoyed this time in my life.”

  “My dear, you have been very good to me as well. You have been faithful to your tasks and more than faithful to bring in new clientele. I hope you might remain here and be my partner, but I understand if circumstances develop to take you away. Please just let me know if there is anything I might do to help.”

  “I will,” Catherine promised.

  As the end of November approached, Catherine was relieved to see all of the gowns nearly complete. There were details of trim yet to do, but the bulk work had been finished and the Christmas deadlines were now completely realistic. Next would come the New Year’s gowns, but they weren’t needed until closer to the end of the month.

  Catherine told herself that having her work nearly done was the only reason she had agreed to accompany the Danbys and Mr. Arlington to the opera. She convinced herself that this was nothing more than her reward for accomplishing all she had worked so hard to complete.

  She thought differently, however, when Carter handed her into the empty carriage and followed up quickly behind her. He tapped the roof for Joseph to go, even before Catherine was properly settled on the leather seat.

  As she slammed back against the cushioning, she looked at Carter with a puzzled expression.

  “I was afraid you might bolt when you learned that Leander and Winifred plan to meet us at the opera.”

  Catherine nodded. “You’re right. I would have done just that.”

  She righted herself and smoothed the skirt of her gown.

  “See, I knew that would be your thought. I’m finding that I know you better all the time,” Carter teased with a wicked grin.

  “But alas, even this knowledge only serves to make me want to know more.”

  As much as Catherine would have liked to ignore him, she found herself further drawn to him. The privacy afforded them set her emotions on edge, but the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

  “Mr. Danby—”

  “Carter,” he interjected. “Call me Carter, and I shall call you Catherine. At least until that time I might call you mine.”

  She trembled at the thought, imagining what it might feel like to be in his arms—to feel his caress against her cheek—his lips upon hers. Carter chuckled, as though reading her mind.

  Catherine quickly looked away and clutched her coat close.

  “You don’t need to be afraid of me,” Carter said, coming to sit beside her. “I only want to help you—to keep you safe. Catherine, I can’t help it. I’ve lost my heart.”

  “Then you’d do well to find it quickly.” She scooted closer to the window of the carriage.

  “Why are you afraid?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, trying hard to sound as though she believed it.

  “I can be quite charming if you let me,” he said, reaching over to take hold of her hand.

  Catherine resisted, but he finally succeeded in prying her hand away from the coat. “I know very well how charming you can be,” she replied, her voice barely audible. “But we are worlds apart. I am a seamstress and you are a man of great means.”

  “Come now, Catherine. We both know that our worlds are not that far apart.”

  She dared to look him in the face. There was a longing in his eyes that was nearly her undoing. It was almost as if, in an unspoken manner, he was commanding the truth from her.

  “I am not suited for you,” she said and quickly looked away.

  “Yes, you are,” he replied.

  His low, husky voice caused Catherine to shiver. He made her feel things she’d never felt before. How easy it would be to just give in—to agree to be courted and loved by this man.

  “Do you have any idea how attentive I can be?” he asked.

  She refused to look at him. Drawing a deep breath, Catherine knew she had to resist him once and for all. “I can well imagine.”

  “I don’t think so.” He turned her face toward him.

  Catherine closed her eyes tightly and clenched her jaw. She would not give in. She would not let him see the way he affected her. Somewhere deep inside she heard the mocking laughter of her own heart.

  “Catherine, open your eyes and look at me.” She did as he told her. He smiled. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t impose myself upon you, and if you tell me that you want nothing of me, I will leave you alone.”

  She couldn’t speak. She looked at him and thought of all the arguments she could offer him, but telling him that she didn’t want anything of him would be a lie.

  He stroked her cheek with his hand. “See, you want to know me, just as I want to know you.”

  She swallowed hard. “Wanting doesn’t mean having. There are a great many things I want . . . that might never be.”

  He nodded and let her go. “I understand better than you might think. Trust me, Catherine. I only want to help you—to love you.”

  Catherine bit her lip and forced back tears. She had no words to offer. Here was the man with whom she might have shared her future . . . had her past been different.

  Reading the last line of a letter never intended for her eyes, Felicia smiled in a smug, self-satisfied manner. She couldn’t believe her good fortune.

  Sitting at the back of the church due to a cough, she’d managed to sneak out of church early and now had gone through the contents of letters the Shays had in their apartment. She could clearly see the truth of Catherine’s plight. What rich details.

  What wonderfully damaging information.

  The clock struck twelve, and Felicia knew everyone would soon return to the house. She hurried to tuck the letters back in the dresser drawer, then surveyed the room to make sure nothing was out of place.

  “So they think you’ve run off with your father’s partner,” Felicia said, grinning. “I think this information will merit me a great deal. You’ve ordered me around for the last time, Miss Shay. Or should I say, Miss Newbury.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Catherine surveyed the finished gown on Winifred and smiled. The pink silk draped beautifully against the younger woman’s frame. The darker rose and burgundy trims, along with ivory lace and tulle, perfectly outlined her slender form.

  “I have a lovely ivory mask that Mother found for me. It will be perfect.” Winifred twirled and let the skirt billow out around her. “I love it. I’m sure it’s the nicest gown I’ve ever owned. Catherine, you have done such a wonderful job.”

  “I’m glad you like it. You will be the belle of the ball.” Catherine put away her small sewing kit. She’d brought it just in case adjustments need
ed to be made. “I’ll send Beatrix over on the morning of the twenty-second to sew on the roses. She’ll do a fine job.”

  Winifred stopped admiring the dress and came to where Catherine gathered the last of her things. “Catherine, I have a favor to ask of you.”

  “Go on,” she encouraged, seeing that Winifred suddenly looked rather nervous.

  “Will you promise to say yes?”

  “I can hardly do that before I know what the favor might be.”

  Catherine closed her sewing bag and eyed Winifred in earnest.

  “It’s just that this is very important to me. I am begging you to say yes.”

  “Then you’d better tell me what it is you want from me.”

  “I want you to be my guest and companion at the ball.” She raised her hand to silence Catherine. “I know it is a great deal to ask, but I’m so very nervous. I think—in fact, I am almost certain—Leander plans to propose marriage.”

  “Things have certainly progressed rather quickly,” Catherine said. “But I am very happy for you.”

  “That’s why I need you. Don’t you see? I shall be so very nervous. You have been a dear friend to me, almost like a sister.”

  “Winifred . . . I cannot come,” Catherine said, shaking her head. “It simply wouldn’t be appropriate. Your guests would never understand why the seamstress was attending, as if she were someone important.”

  “But you are important. Please, Catherine. You can come and leave before the unmasking. Mother always has this ritual where everyone pairs up and tries to guess the identity of their partner. It happens at midnight, and you could slip out well before. And, as Mother has always maintained, everyone is equal behind the masks. No one would even know who you are. I’d even have Joseph ready and waiting to take you home.”

  “I appreciate your invitation; it’s been ever so long since I’ve enjoyed a party. But I cannot come. I have no ball gown and no mask.” Catherine remembered well her beautiful gowns she’d once owned. When she left England with the Shays, she had left most of her things behind, taking a few of her maid’s dresses instead.

  They were desperate to draw no attention to their appearance.

  “I can resolve the ball gown matter,” Winifred said confidently. “You and I are the same size. I have a gown that I’ve not worn for well over a year. You could remake it.”

  “There isn’t time.”

  Winifred took hold of Catherine’s hands. “Please. You know there is time. You could remake the gown and no one would be the wiser. Please, Catherine. Do this for me.”

  The clock on the mantel struck two. Winifred had already told her Carter was expected home by three. He had hoped to see her, Winifred had stated with a coy smile.

  “All right,” Catherine said, knowing she must leave. “You’re sure my identity can remain unknown?”

  “But of course. It’s a masquerade! I’ll have an invitation delivered. And wait right here. I have the gown boxed and ready for you to take.”

  “You must have been quite confident of your ability to persuade,” Catherine declared. She waited as Winifred raced from the room.

  Catherine shook her head, knowing she would never attend the ball. It was completely inappropriate. She paced the sitting room, noting that it was cold and unwelcoming compared to that of the Arlington home. Winifred had told her this larger room was used for parties and family gatherings. The Niagara blue walls were set off by white crown molding and doors, while every empty spot on the wall had been decorated with gold-framed paintings. Heavy gold damask draperies framed the windows with lighter-weight panels of the same color to allow in some light. The fireplace surround was a cold white marble with gold trim. The clock on the mantel was gold and crystal. It served only to perpetuate the cold, harsh feel of the setting.

  “Here it is,” Winifred said, panting as she hurried to bring Catherine the dress box. “It is yours to keep. The color doesn’t suit me.”

  Catherine couldn’t help but smile. “Is it puce? I’m told you like that color.”

  Winifred laughed lyrically. “I was told that too, but I find I do not care for puce at all. No, the gown is a shimmering green, like new spring leaves. I’m sure it will look wonderful with your coloring.”

  “Thank you very much. It’s a kind gesture and gift. I won’t forget it. But I must go now. I’m expected back at the house.”

  “I will see you out.” Winifred helped Catherine balance the box. “I could have the carriage take you back; this is a lot to carry.”

  “I carried as much on my walk here. I’ll be fine.”

  Catherine set her things down only long enough to take up her bonnet and secure it in place. The butler assisted her with her coat, then handed Catherine her gloves.

  “I hope you will accompany us to supper one night next week,” Winifred declared. “Carter has told us of a new dining establishment. He will be so disappointed that you had to leave before he arrived.”

  “I doubt I will be free to come,” Catherine offered as she gathered her things. The box did seem rather awkward, but know- ing it had to be nearly the same size and weight as the one she’d come with, Catherine simply adjusted her hold and hoped for the best.

  “I will call on you later,” Winifred promised, “as soon as I know what evening Leander and Carter are free.”

  “Very well. Good day.”

  Catherine hurried through the door and down the stairs before she had to lie again about being willing to attend one of Winifred’s affairs. The dress box, however, seemed wont to jump from her arms and very nearly caused her a misstep as she struggled to set it right. Doing her best not to fall or drop the box, Catherine was unprepared when someone took hold of her elbow.

  “Might I be of assistance?”

  Carter’s voice caused her to completely lose the battle. Catherine dropped the box from fright.

  Carter easily caught the package and laughed. “It would seem I came along in the nick of time.”

  “Had you not startled me, I would have managed quite well.”

  She couldn’t help but steal a glance as he shifted the box. He was dressed impeccably as usual with a soft wool overcoat to protect him from the chilly day.

  “Come. I have the carriage right here. I will have Joseph drive you home.”

  Catherine thought of the long walk back. It had been easy enough to reject the idea when Winifred offered, but with the carriage right in front of her and knowing the box to be particularly troublesome, Catherine yielded.

  “Very well.”

  She let Carter help her into the carriage but was surprised when instead of merely offering up the box, he climbed in with it and took the seat across from her.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m seeing you home.”

  Catherine shook her head. “You said nothing of coming along.”

  “I would hardly be a gentleman if I allowed you to carry this yourself.” He leaned out the still-open door. “Joseph, take us to Mrs. Clarkson’s sewing house.”“Yes, suh.”

  Carter closed the door, and the carriage interior immediately dimmed. Catherine put her sewing bag on the seat beside her, hoping there would be no repeat of Carter’s previous moves.

  He grinned, as if discerning her mind on the matter. He said nothing, however. “So have you transformed my sister into a mysterious creature for the ball?”

  “Yes. She looked quite beautiful.” Catherine tried to keep her focus on her gloved hands.

  “And are you ready yet to give in to my request and court me?” he asked matter-of-factly.

  Catherine looked at him and rolled her eyes. “No. I’ve decided we should forego the courtship altogether and marry by the end of the week.” The exasperation was clear in her voice.

  “Wonderful!” Carter laughed heartily. “I shall arrange everything.”

  She shook her head and sent her gaze rolling once again.

  “Sir, you and your gender are most . . . most . . .”

  �
�We are quite entertaining, are we not?” He eyed her with an air of amusement.

  “ ‘Entertaining’ is hardly the word. I was thinking more along the lines of vexing.”

  “I haven’t even begun to try to vex you, my dearest Catherine.

  Although perhaps since charm isn’t working . . .” He let the words hang and offered her a wink.

  “I must say, men in America are far more brazen than Englishmen.”

  “That’s because we’re all about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I’m especially after the latter part at the moment. Speaking of America, how do you find it now after living here for several years?”

  For a moment, Catherine lost her ability to speak. The question reminded her of their conversation when Carter had first danced with her in Bath. They had talked of how she had no opinion of America and no desire to formulate one.

  Carter watched Catherine’s face as she wrestled with the question. He was certain she remembered that they had once discussed this very topic in England. He thought she might then admit to him who she really was, but she didn’t.

  “I find . . . it has treated me well,” she admitted. “But I miss England at times.”

  “It’s a wonderful country. The architecture there is magnificent. I look forward to returning.”

  “You plan to go to England?” she asked, her tone almost wistful.

  “Perhaps. Maybe,” he teased, “we could journey there on our wedding trip.”

  She fell silent and looked out the window, as if to keep herself safe from his advances.

  “What were you like as a child?” he asked, hoping she would answer.

  “Happy,” she replied without so much as a breath. “I was loved, and I was safe. Nothing could hurt me.” She bowed her head.

  “But you don’t feel safe or happy now, do you?”

  She refused to reply. Carter leaned forward. “I’d like to help you. I’d like to make you feel safe—to know you’re loved.” The time was right, he thought. He would tell her that he knew everything. He would share with her how he was working to see her father’s circumstance reviewed and righted.