Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  She had felt light and excited as she walked into the great ballroom with her father and brother, looking all around for any sign of Thomas.

  Her father, she knew, would be less aggressive and awkward, even though the Duke of Shawcross was undoubtedly there. It was a large enough event that the two men need not even look upon each other, and so her father had relaxed a little from what he had been at Lord Vinton’s much smaller gathering.

  Seeing that her father was not quite so vigilant had made her somewhat more confident. Perhaps she would even manage a few moments’ conversation with her love.

  The Earl had fallen into an immediate conversation with three of his acquaintances, all of whom had hurried dutifully over the moment they saw him enter the ballroom. And Philip, a secretively beleaguered look on his face that only Catherine would recognize, dutifully stood at his father’s side and partook of the conversation.

  Catherine was, as always, so easily forgotten that she thought she could have walked right over to Thomas and nobody would see a thing. Not that she would dream of such a thing, but her father’s dismissal of her was always so complete.

  Thomas was standing some feet away from his own father and brother, engaged in conversation with a young man Catherine recognised but did not know. Thomas looked pleased to be in his company, instead of suffering his father who, by Thomas’ own accounts to her, seemed every bit as boorish and pig-headed as the Earl.

  Catherine studied him secretly and contentedly. He was dressed formally in black breeches and finely cut tailcoat. He wore black knee boots, rather than the white stockings and shining black shoes his brother had chosen to wear, and Catherine thought the look a far more pleasing one. His waistcoat was a pale cream and fitted him to perfection.

  In contrast with his brother once again, Thomas wore a white shirt with a simple necktie. Pierce, on the other hand, wore a shirt with such an elaborately fashioned necktie that she wondered how he would manage to eat anything all evening.

  And that was the difference; Pierce always seemed to announce his status in some way or other. Thomas was simply a content and confident man who had no need of such devices. And that was why she loved him so much.

  Catherine smiled absent-mindedly as she watched Thomas from across the room. It was one of those moments when she forgot all the troubles, the dreaded outcomes, and simply enjoyed being in love. She was a young woman in love with a handsome young man, and that was all there was to it.

  When he looked away from his companion for a moment, it was clear that he spotted Catherine immediately. His face erupted into a smile that he could not control, and it was some moments before he came to his senses.

  When he did, Thomas gave her the tiny, almost imperceptible nod he always gave her now when they were in public. That wonderful, secret acknowledgement that meant so much to her.

  And that must have been it; the moment when her adoring brother had looked up from the dull company in which he found himself and saw his sister’s eyes locked on those of Thomas Carlton.

  “Oh, Philip, whatever am I to do.” Catherine, brought back to the here and now by her own sadness, looked at her brother miserably.

  “I wish I had some wise words for you, Catherine. I wish I had some plan by which you could be safe and happy for the rest of your life, and it will trouble me forever that I do not.”

  “I love him so much. I cannot stop meeting with him, not yet.”

  “I know. And perhaps that is all you can do for now. But you must be careful in the future. You must not be so open in your admiration of Thomas, or you will give yourself away.”

  “Yes, if our father saw …”

  “He would not even notice, Catherine. He would never discover this by use of his own senses. He does not pay attention for long enough, or hard enough, to discern such a thing for himself. But he has his men, his little spies, the sycophants who hover around him and would seek to have you married to their own sons. They must be watched for, mistrusted at every level.”

  “Yes, you are right.” Catherine was beginning to feel a little better.

  It was true that nothing had been solved, but it was clear that Philip was not about to insist she abandon Thomas or her love for him.

  “But you must remember what sort of a man our father is. He might not discover it for himself, but if he ever found it out, I fear for what he would do to you.” Philip paused, and Catherine shuddered. “You know how he behaves when he thinks he has been wronged in some way. If he found out about your regard for Thomas Carlton, he would see it as an absolute betrayal. His ego would be all that his heart would hear, and it would force him into something dreadful. And it would not be temporary, Catherine, for you know yourself how long he can carry a resentment, even the smallest of them.”

  “Years,” Catherine said with a rueful smile.

  “No, forever,” Philip said with certainty. “Think about it; when have you ever known our father to forgive anybody?”

  “Never. I have never seen him relent in any matter,” Catherine said, her mouth going suddenly dry.

  “And it would be the same for you. Perhaps even worse because he would see it as betrayal from a family member; one of his own children.” Philip stopped abruptly. “Forgive me; I did not mean to frighten you. But you must promise me that you will have a care in the future.”

  “I promise.”

  Chapter 7

  Just weeks later, Catherine wished she had stuck more rigidly to her brother’s advice. But as she stood in her father’s study, her legs feeling weak and as if they might not support her for much longer, she wondered what else she could have done.

  Catherine and Thomas had varied the times and days of their meetings, although they had always met at Stromlyn Lake. But after her talk with Philip, Catherine had urged Thomas to take different routes between Stromlyn Lake and Shawcross Hall, so as not to develop an obvious routine that might lead to their discovery.

  She was so sure that she had covered every possibility, disallowing him to smile at her in public, although brief eye contact was something that they had continued to make.

  And all of it broke her heart; why should she have to hide her love and pretend not to know Thomas? All for the sake of their selfish, antagonistic fathers, not to mention the immature, territorial grandfathers who had caused it all in the first place.

  “Of all the men,” her father said, his voice so low she was almost more afraid.

  She had heard him bellow with predictable regularity throughout her entire life, but it was always the quiet voice she feared. The quiet voice was not the threat of something awful to come; it was a promise. This was her father conserving energy because he knew he had a long and full day of punishing ahead of him.

  “Why him? Why the son of the Duke of Shawcross? Have I not kept you away from them?”

  Catherine knew better than to speak, even to respond to his questions. All she could sensibly do was hang her head; that was what her father was expecting. That was what he was looking for as her response. Not an explanation or a reasonable excuse. Not even the truth. None of it. All he wanted was total and utter capitulation.

  He wanted his enemy to prostrate herself at his feet and declare she had been beaten. And she was his enemy, absolutely his enemy. There was no doubt about that in Catherine’s mind, and the only question was, would it ever change?

  “And because I have been so careful to keep you away from them, I can only imagine that you have gone out of your way to consort with him. Something like that does not happen by accident; it is decided upon.” He paced up and down the floorboards of the large study.

  It was an austere room, always a little cold even if there was a fire in the grate, and it enjoyed so little natural daylight that it might as well not have had a window in it at all.

  And even though it was so ill-favoured in trapping the sun’s rays, every wall had been clad in dark oak paneling, making the room seem darker and more miserable still.

  Her fat
her’s desk was made of mahogany and was so large that it would easily have seated six people around it for dinner. There were papers everywhere across it, just strewn here and there and not even piled neatly, leading Catherine to absently wonder how it was he ever managed to get anything done.

  His approach to his estate papers reminded her of his approach to his dinner plate. It was haphazard at best, and a downright mess at worst. There was nothing at all refined about her father, nothing to redeem him whatsoever. In everything, he was like a bull in a china shop. Every aspect of his life was something to be barged through, knocked out of the way, bullied into line.

  And Catherine knew that she was nothing more than the latest thing to be marched across and beaten. She was going to be dealt with, one way or another, and all that remained to be seen was the method that her father would employ.

  Catherine had no idea how it was her father had found out about her and Thomas. She knew with absolute certainty that Philip had not said anything. When their father had barged into the breakfast room that morning and ripped Catherine from her seat by her upper arm, Philip had looked shocked by it.

  He was as shocked as she was, and he was out of his seat in a heartbeat. He reared up against his father, and only Catherine’s protestations and heartfelt entreaties that he should remain calm had kept him from doing something regrettable.

  That had been more than an hour ago, and her father had yet to let her speak or get to the part where her punishment was made known. Perhaps he did not yet know how he would punish her; perhaps it was all too soon for that.

  But it was clear that the Earl of Barford had only received the dreaded information that morning. It could only have come to him in the moments before he had burst into the breakfast room and seized her.

  Poor Philip must have been suffering agonies wondering what was happening to her, how frightened she must be. But curiously, Catherine did not feel frightened. She simply felt exhausted as if the anxiety of the last few months had finally caught up with her and chosen that moment to make itself known.

  More than anything in the world, Catherine wanted to sit down. There was a small, hard wooden chair in front of her father’s mahogany desk, but she knew better than to sit down in it. It would do her no good to even ask. Her comfort was very rarely a consideration, and it most certainly would not be one now that he had found her out and was so very angry with her.

  But how? How had he found out? She racked her brains and felt sure that she had not been seen with Thomas anywhere. They had taken so much care of late, neither one of them taking risks at all.

  What did it matter who had given them away? In the end, what difference would it make? None. Knowing the identity of the person who had given away her secret would not make her punishment any the less.

  “So, since it is clear to me that you went out of your way to choose this young man, I can only assume that you did so as a means of betraying me. You seek to make a fool of me before the entire county, do you not?” He turned and glared at her, and Catherine wondered if he was expecting her to answer. “Well?” he said, and his voice had grown a little louder.

  “No, I did not,” she said quietly.

  “You did not seek to make a fool of me? But surely with your very behaviour, to make a fool of me was something that could hardly be avoided. So, it was something that you knew would come to me, you scheming little minx.”

  He had begun to pace again, and it was clear that her part in the proceedings was over, at least for the time being.

  Catherine began to feel hot and a little lightheaded, and she was certain that she could feel her body swaying just a little from side to side as if she were going off balance. It was true that she had taken nothing to eat that morning, given that her father had burst into the breakfast room before she had taken a single bite.

  But she knew that it was not simple hunger that was making her feel so weak and unwell. It was the fear of what was coming. Not the fear of what would happen to her, as such, but the fear of how life would move on from that point. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever life held for her in the future, Thomas Carlton would not be part of it.

  As the thought came to her, a little noise escaped her throat, a squashed cry of pain. Her father paused in his determined pacing and turned sharply to glare at her. His face was becoming red, his anger slowly working itself up to a tangible, dreadful thing.

  “What was that?” he said gruffly. “What right have you to cry out? If anyone has a right to cry out in anguish, girl, it is me. After all, am I not the one who has been wronged? And not only wronged but wronged by my own kin? The very flesh and blood I gave life to!” He was whipping himself up into a frenzy again and, when he began to pace once more, Catherine held her breath.

  “How long has this been going on?” He took her off-guard with his question, for he seemed to have asked it quite rationally. “How long have you been meeting with Thomas Carlton?”

  “Five months, Sir,” she said in a tiny, strangled voice.

  “Five months?” he said slowly and deliberately. “For five long months, you have been content to humiliate me with this vile association? And in all that time, did you not once think of your duty to me? Did you not once think of the evil betrayal you were perpetrating? For make no mistake, girl, you have betrayed me. I have given you everything in the world, everything you could possibly want or desire, and you have seen fit to go behind my back and throw everything I have ever done for you back in my face. What would you do with somebody who did that to you?” he said and continued to pace. “What punishment would you lay out for somebody who had treated you with such contempt?”

  Catherine could feel herself growing a little faint and blinked rapidly to stave it off. He had reached the subject of punishment much sooner than she had been expecting, and it had taken her by surprise.

  She felt coldness in the pit of her stomach as if it had been filled with ice, and yet her arms and legs seemed to be hot and cold in turns. There was a pricking at the back of her neck, and she felt clammy with fear.

  The pricking was causing a great irritation, and she wanted to reach up and lay a hand on the back of her neck. She knew, however, she ought not to move a muscle.

  If she did, it would just draw his attention to her and make him all the angrier. All she could do was stand there and hope that she did not keel over and that she would instead brave it all, whatever was coming.

  “Well, I have decided. I cannot have a member of my own family betraying me as you have. I am the Earl of Barford, a man of great importance, not a man whose daughter, his very own daughter, would go against him,” he said, and for a moment she almost inappropriately laughed, for he had straightened up a little in his own description of himself and had puffed his chest out somewhat proudly. He looked ridiculous, and it was certainly not the moment for any sort of self-congratulation. “And so it is clear to me that I have only one course of action. I cannot have a traitor under my roof, not even if she is my own daughter. Especially if she is my own daughter!” He seemed to falter for a moment before correcting himself. “And so, I am going to disown you.”

  “Disown me?” Catherine said in a strangled sob.

  Of all the punishments she had expected, being disowned had not been one of them. In truth, it had not even occurred to her that her father would say such a thing. She had expected that she would be struck, bruised even. She had known that she would be disallowed Thomas Carlton’s company ever again, that was a foregone conclusion. And she had even thought that he would instantly marry her away to whichever young man was currently floating on the periphery of his mind as potentially useful to him at a later date.

  “You seem a little dismayed,” he said and turned, giving her a bitter, cruel smile.

  “What do you mean disowned, father?” she said, feeling all the more distressed in the face of her father’s apparent amusement.