Love Stories of Enchanting Ladies: A Historical Regency Romance Collection

by Bridget Barton

  When they finally released one another and began to walk again, they continued to do so in silence for a while. They were both lost in their thoughts, and yet Catherine knew that they could only have been thinking about the same thing. There was no doubt in her mind that Thomas was remembering their love, their carefree love, just as she was doing.

  “I cannot bear to think that you are to leave in just a few days,” Thomas said, suddenly breaking the silence.

  “No, I am not to leave just yet. I am to stay just a little longer for my family is coming at Philip’s invitation from Derbyshire.”

  “Your aunt and uncle?” he said and looked at her, his pale blue eyes wide with interest.

  “Yes, Celia and Charles Topwell. In truth, they have been as parents to me, and I already miss them more than I can say.” She laughed. “You cannot imagine how my mind tortured me all the way from Hertfordshire to Derbyshire, the things that I assumed my father’s sister would be capable of. But from the moment I arrived, I was treated with nothing but kindness, warmth, and love. For every bad thing that happened, that was so great a consolation.”

  “And I am very glad to hear it, Catherine. I cannot tell you the times I wondered how you fared and how you were being treated.”

  “They are the most understanding people I have ever met, more understanding than I could ever explain in words.”

  “I do hope I am able to cross paths with them during their stay in Hertfordshire,” Thomas said genuinely.

  “Yes, I am sure you shall,” Catherine said, and already her mind was beginning to race.

  She knew that she must accept this afternoon for what it was, be grateful for their moments of closeness, and then let it go.

  She knew she ought not to be making plans in her mind, hoping for the best when she knew that it was not going to happen. And then there was Henry; she really did not want to risk Thomas meeting him. What if there was some innate sense within Thomas and he would know immediately that Henry was his son? How could she go on? And yet how could she not tell him? How could she deny both Thomas and Henry the right, the very real right, of knowing one another?

  Staring out into the distance, Catherine felt relieved to see a horse tethered to a low hanging branch. It could only be Thomas’ horse, and so they would be heading back towards Barford sooner rather than later.

  A large part of her did not want to leave Thomas, but reality was beginning to settle around her once more, and she knew that she could not keep her heart safe if she did not accept it.

  “Well, it looks as if we are heading back,” Thomas said dolefully.

  “Yes, I daresay it is time for me to make my way back to my brother.”

  Catherine had gone through every moment of their encounter several times, enjoying it one moment, fearing the next.

  She spent the rest of the morning pacing back and forth, trying not to think of Thomas and instead simply looking forward to the arrival of Celia, Charles, and her beloved Henry. Their kindness and care could be the only thing to comfort her and keep her from making a dreadful mistake.

  When she finally heard the sound of carriage wheels on the gravel outside, Catherine set off through Barford Hall at a running pace, her heart pounding with excitement.

  Henry was the first out of the carriage, running towards her with a wide smile on his beautiful, chubby face.

  “Aunt Catherine! Aunt Catherine!” he shouted as he threw his little arms around her, almost knocking her clean off her feet.

  Catherine could hear Philip bounding down the stone steps behind her and knew that she must be careful not to cry too much, not to show the sort of emotion that would give her away as being a mother. And yet it was so hard; she wanted to hold tightly to Henry and never let him go again.

  “How lovely to see you, Henry,” she said brightly, blinking hard. “And how quickly you jumped down out of the carriage on your own. I think you have grown since I last saw you, for you are becoming a very big boy.” She ruffled his red-brown hair, and he grinned at her.

  “Aunt Celia said this is the house you grew up in, Aunt Catherine. I think it is the biggest house I have ever, ever seen!” he said excitedly, and Catherine could hear Philip chuckling behind her.

  “Well, let me introduce you to the master of the house, my own brother Philip,” she said and turned Henry around to present him for introduction.

  “This is Philip Ambrose, Henry. He is the Earl of Barford, you know,” Catherine said with a smile when she saw Henry’s eyes widen. “And Philip, this is Master Henry Topwell, ward of Celia and Charles Topwell.” She laughed at her own amusingly dramatic formality.

  However, when she saw the look on Philip’s face, her laughter caught in her throat. She knew at that moment that her brother would not be so easily fooled. More than that, she knew that he was perfectly well aware of exactly who Henry Topwell was.

  Chapter 22

  “I had forgotten how beautiful the grounds are here, Catherine,” Celia said a little whimsically as the two of them sat on the lower terrace in a companionship that would have been entirely peaceful had Henry not been halfway up a tree and calling down to them to look at him.

  “Yes, but I am bound to say it seems a good deal more peaceful now that my father is not here,” Catherine said and looked up just in time to see Henry about to move up another branch. “Henry, no,” she said firmly.

  “But Aunt Catherine,” he said in loud complaint.

  “Henry, that is as high as I want you to go today. Do not forget; this is higher than you have ever been before. Just take a moment to enjoy it and recognize your achievement; everything comes little by little.”

  “I wish it would not,” Henry complained but dutifully stayed where he was. “Everything happens so slowly.”

  “You will not say that when you get to my age, Henry,” Celia said, and Henry chuckled, seeming for all the world to have understood the joke.

  “He has such cheek,” Catherine said and tried not to laugh at her son’s antics.

  “A little like his father if I remember truly everything you told me about Thomas Carlton.” Celia smiled, and Catherine loved her all the more.

  She had never shied away from talking about Thomas, and never in anything other than favourable terms. Celia had never done or said anything with the intention of making Catherine feel ashamed for the child she had given birth to out of wedlock. She had blamed neither Catherine nor Thomas for the matters that were out of their control, and she had never regarded Henry as anything other than a human being with the rights of every other human being in the world.

  They only had this story by necessity, not as an attempt to shamefacedly hide Henry away, and Catherine would always love them for it.

  “So very like his father. Perhaps he is more like his father than I had ever really considered. I mean, I could always see Thomas in Henry’s face, from the moment he was born and you placed him in my arms, Aunt Celia. I could see that little tuft of red hair and those beautiful blue eyes. But I had not realized quite how anybody else would be able to see the resemblance, I must admit.”

  “But Philip took it all very well, did he not?” Celia raised her eyebrows.

  “He was startled; that much is true. And who would not be? And he told me that it was not just that he could see Thomas Carlton in Henry, but he could see a little of my own looks also.”

  “Yes, there is much in Henry’s face which reminds me of you.” Celia held her hand as they sat on the bench looking up into the tree where Henry was now fully absorbed in picking off tiny bits of bark.

  “It was a shock to Philip to see Henry standing there, but he is not shocked by Henry if that makes any sense,” Catherine went on.

  “It makes perfect sense. He is not scandalized by Henry’s existence.”

  “He is not at all scandalized. The moment we were alone, I spoke to him about it immediately. I made it very clear that I am not ashamed, nor am I apologetic, and Philip said that I had no need to be. He said th
at if father had not been such an evil man, Thomas and I would have been married and that we were parted through no fault of our own. Really, I do not know if I deserve such a fine brother as Philip, for I could tell that he meant every word of it.”

  “He is a very fine young man indeed, and you most certainly do deserve to have a fine brother. And I have no doubt he thinks of you as a very fine sister. Look how he would not let you go and insisted that Charles, Henry, and I come to Barford instead. I can tell by the way he talks that he has missed you as much as you have missed him these last years, and I wish I had known you both as children. I wish I had been able to be an aunt to you when you needed me most,” Celia said with a whimsical look.

  “But Celia, you were an aunt to me when I needed you most. Not just an aunt, a mother.”

  “You must stop, or I shall be in tears.” Celia laughed, and it was clear that she was very grateful for such a wonderful compliment, especially knowing that it was utterly heartfelt.

  “Yes, I do not want to have you pink and tear-stained for the afternoon of bridge, Aunt Celia.” Catherine turned a little on the bench to look at her. “You do want to go, do you not? I do not want you to think that you must. But I do think that you would like Lady Morton ever so much; she was always very kind to me when I was a young woman, very open-minded and open-hearted. She reminds me a little of you, and I cannot help thinking that the two of you would get along famously.”

  “I am very much looking forward to an afternoon out, and even more excited at the prospect of meeting this Lady Morton you keep telling me about. Have you seen her since you have returned?”

  “No, this is to be our first meeting. And if I know Lady Morton as well as I think I do, she will be in tears and flapping this way and that like a mother hen.”

  “Then I really am looking forward to it. I do so like to meet a woman like myself. It is very much easier, is it not? Less complicated somehow.” Celia chuckled. “And I cannot help hoping that I get to set eyes on this Thomas of yours. After all, did you not once tell me that he is also great friends with Lady Morton?”

  “Yes, they always were great friends.” Catherine laughed when a little memory came back to her. “I remember once Thomas told me that Lady Morton had provided him with a little subterfuge one afternoon so that he might have a few moments’ conversation with me in private without his brother knowing it. She is all kindness and a little mischief, and I like her very much.”

  “I like her already. And is Philip to come with us?”

  “Ah, I had forgotten to tell you,” Catherine said and lightly slapped her forehead with an open palm. “Neither Philip nor Uncle Charles are coming with us. They have decided to go to the far end of the estate where the little lake is and have an afternoon of fishing.”

  “I might have known it,” Celia said with amusing annoyance. “Your uncle will do anything to get out of a social engagement.”

  “But he does like fishing, Aunt Celia. And they are both keen to have Henry with them, and he is already very excited.”

  “Your uncle is a lovely man, my dear, but he is not above using a child to get his own way.” Celia smiled in a manner which gave away her deep love for her husband. “Still, we ladies shall manage, shall we not? In fact, perhaps we will have a little freer gossip without the men around.”

  “That is precisely what I thought, Aunt Celia.”

  Later that day when they arrived at the home of Lady Morton, that fine woman did not disappoint. Her eyes were already brimming with tears. She took both of Catherine’s hands in her own and just looked at her silently for some moments as the first of her tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “My adorable girl, you look as young and as beautiful as ever. Dear me, but I have missed your company.” Lady Morton, not at all bothered by the fact that there were several guests behind Catherine and Celia waiting to be admitted into the drawing room, finally flung her arms around Catherine and held her tightly.

  For her part, Catherine had not expected to be quite so touched by their reunion as she appeared to be and soon found that she was blinking hard in an attempt to keep her own tears at bay. Lady Morton really was so very nice and one of only a few friends that she had been allowed to keep as a young woman.

  “And I have missed your company too, Lady Morton. But my father is gone now, and I may visit Hertfordshire whenever I choose. I am a free woman again, and we shall spend as much time together as we are able,” Catherine whispered into Lady Morton’s ear.

  “Forgive me, but I have never been so relieved to hear of another’s passing as I was to hear of your father’s. I knew you would come back when he was gone.”

  “Lady Morton, I ought to let you greet the rest of your guests or they will be queueing out onto the street.” Catherine laughed. “And when you have time of it, come and find me so that I might properly introduce you to my Aunt Celia.”

  “I should like that very much. Do go on into the drawing room and find yourself a seat and some refreshments. Do not get embroiled in a bridge game just yet, for I shall come to find you sooner rather than later.” Lady Morton, fortified by giving a few polite instructions, quickly pulled herself together. “Oh yes, and Thomas is already in there. I thought you might like to know.” She smiled sweetly.

  “Thank you, Lady Morton.” Catherine squeezed her hand and then took her aunt’s arm and led her into the drawing room that was so wonderfully familiar.

  “What a lovely drawing room,” Celia said in hushed tones as they made their way through to an unoccupied couch.

  “Yes, I have always liked it here. This house has a wonderful atmosphere.”

  “I do like Lady Morton already,” Celia said with a smile. “Oh look, here comes a maid.”

  “Would you like some tea, Lady Catherine?” the woman said and turned to smile at Celia also. “And Mrs Topwell?”

  “Yes please, Daisy,” Catherine said warmly. “And how nice it is to see you again,” she went on, grateful that the maid had included her aunt.

  “Thank you, My Lady. We were all very pleased to know that you were home.” She gave a little curtsy before she disappeared to arrange their tea.

  “Goodness me, Lady Morton is attentive. Imagine her maid already knowing my name!” Celia looked mightily impressed. “And I quite forget that you are Lady Catherine.” She chuckled.

  “You also forget that you are Lady Celia,” Catherine reminded her of the title she had never used since leaving Barford Hall. “Although I do not think it is important to either one of us, is it?”

  “No, I do not think so. And you are right; it has been many years since I thought of myself as Lady Celia. I think I prefer Mrs Topwell.”

  “I think Mrs Topwell suits you very well indeed.”

  “Good afternoon, Catherine. Am I interrupting?” Catherine looked up to see Thomas, handsome in brown breeches and an olive-green tailcoat, smiling broadly.

  In her haste to have her aunt seated and comfortable, she had almost forgotten that Lady Morton said that Thomas was already in the drawing room and had not looked for him at all.

  “Not at all.” Catherine smiled although there was a part of her that wished he were not there at all that day. “Please allow me to introduce you to my aunt, Mrs Celia Topwell.”

  “It is very nice to make your acquaintance at last, Mrs Topwell,” Thomas said and bowed. “Catherine has already told me much about you and her time in Derbyshire.”

  “It is very nice to meet you, Lord Carlton.” She smiled at him.

  “May I join you?” he said and looked from Catherine to Celia and back again.

  “Of course you may, young man,” Celia said, and Catherine could see just how delighted her aunt was.