Scandal at the Dower House

by Marina Oliver

  ‘Tell your brother how you feel; perhaps say you would like to delay going to London for another year. How old are you?’

  ‘I was sixteen in December.’

  ‘Much too soon to have to go to grown-up parties, and perhaps be betrothed next year,’ Catarina said with feeling.

  She had never been out in Society before she was married off to Walter, and afterwards, as his wife, she knew she had been awkward and not fully aware of all the proprieties when they went to stay for a few weeks in Bath, and once, on an occasion she looked back on with dismay at her naivety, to London, where she had known no one, and made so many gaffes she had pleaded with Walter to take her home. They had visited London only twice more, and Catarina thought she would be happy never again to set foot there.

  ‘He won’t listen to me,’ Olivia said, her voice breaking on a sob.

  ‘Tell him, and try not to weep as you do. Gentlemen hate to see females in tears. Explain you don’t feel you are ready. Say that if you are too shy to talk to anyone there is no chance of your making a suitable match. You do want to be married, in time, I suppose?’

  Olivia blushed, and her hand in Catarina’s trembled.

  ‘Well, yes, if he is kind to me.’

  Cynically, Catarina thought that if Lady Keith had any say in selecting a husband for Olivia, kindness would be the least quality she would look for.

  ‘Have you any friends who may be making their come outs next year? Friends from school, perhaps?’

  ‘I think so. I still write to some of them. It wasn’t the girls there I hated.’

  ‘Then tell him you would be so much more confident if you were able to be with them.’

  Olivia looked doubtful, but she smiled slightly, and slid down under the covers.

  ‘Thank you, you’ve been kind.’

  ‘Go to sleep now.’

  Catarina left the room and continued in her quest for the book of sermons, trying to decide whether it would do more harm than good if she were herself to speak to Lord Brooke and explain how his sister felt.

  The sermons were of no help and thoughts of Olivia’s distress kept Catarina wakeful. After such a sleepless night Catarina wanted nothing better than to breakfast in bed and stay there until the guests departed, but she knew that would be cowardly, and when Rosa, her maid, came in bringing hot water she forced herself to get up and dress. An apology for her outburst was due; she would think less of herself if she avoided making it.

  Her hope that Lady Keith would have breakfasted in bed was dashed when she entered the breakfast room. The lady was seated to one side of the long table, with nothing but a cup of coffee in front of her. Joanna was the only other person present, but the used plates indicated that the others had eaten and left.

  Catarina took a deep breath. ‘My lady, I have to apologize for what I said last night. It was unpardonable of me and I ask your forgiveness.’

  Lady Keith glared at her. ‘You were abominably rude, but that is no more than I might have expected from a shop girl whose mother was a Portuguese peasant!’

  Joanna gasped. ‘Mama came from a wealthy, aristocratic family! She was not a peasant!’

  Catarina clung to the shreds of her temper. ‘Have you had breakfast, Lady Keith?’

  ‘Since I am so unwelcome here I do not care to abuse your hospitality by eating at your board. I have been persuaded to drink coffee, but soon, madam, we will leave. Nicholas has gone to see to the carriage. Then you may begin preparing to move to the Dower House, and the sooner you do so the better, so that my nephews may take possession, even though they have been cheated of much of the inheritance.’

  Catarina bit hard on her lip. She would not rise to these taunts. Turning away, she helped herself to coddled eggs, all she felt she could force down her throat. As she sat down Joanna began to chat with forced brightness about their uncle, Sir Ivor, and his wife and family.

  ‘I need not return tomorrow if you would like me to stay and help you move, Catarina,’ she offered.

  ‘Let us decide later, when I have had an opportunity to inspect the Dower House and plan what needs doing there.’

  ‘I suppose it is furnished?’ Lady Keith asked. ‘To whom does that belong? Or do you propose abstracting furniture from this house?’

  ‘As it all belongs to Catarina, since as far as I know furniture cannot be entailed in the same way as houses, she could take what she wanted and sell the rest!’ Joanna informed Lady Keith, accompanying her words with a triumphant smile.

  Catarina was saved from having to rebuke Joanna by the door opening and Lord Brooke’s entrance.

  ‘The coach will be at the front door in five minutes, Aunt Clara. I’ve informed your maid, and your luggage is being brought down. Lady Brooke, may I have a few words with you before we leave? Let us go into the library.’

  ‘I wish to speak to you on another matter, my lord.’

  He held open the door for her, and Catarina, abandoning her cold eggs and full cup of coffee, escaped. Only a few more minutes and the appalling old besom would be gone.

  Lord Brooke closed the door of the library, ushered Catarina to a chair drawn up before the fire, and began to pace the room. He glanced across at her, one eyebrow raised, and she wondered if he was trying to intimidate her. She raised her chin in response and stared back unsmilingly.

  ‘I must apologize for my aunt,’ he said stiffly. ‘She was the only older female available, and I did not feel I could stay in your house without a chaperon. She is still suffering from the loss of her own husband two years ago, and the deaths of both her sons. They were with the army in Spain. It has embittered her, but she should not have said what she did.’

  ‘Neither should I and I have apologized,’ Catarina told him, putting a slight emphasis on the second ‘I’.

  She glanced up at him and was surprised to see a gleam of something like amusement in his eyes. When he was relaxed he could be a very attractive man. But it was so fleeting she wondered later if she had imagined it.

  ‘You will soon be left in peace. I intend to take some papers away with me that I have not had opportunity to study. I trust you have no objections?’

  ‘They are yours now, my lord.’

  ‘I also wanted to tell you there is no need for you to move yet. I understand the Dower House has been unoccupied for some years and will need work.’

  ‘Thank you, but I will go as soon as possible.’

  Catarina knew she would feel uncomfortable if she thought she was in any way reliant on this man’s consideration. She was uneasy in his presence and would be so in his house.

  ‘Please inform me when you do. There are a few matters I need to check, so I will come down for a few days when I can spare the time.’

  ‘Of course. Will your brother come to live here?’

  ‘It is one possibility, but he has his career in the army to consider, and would not be here most of the time, so I may prefer to find a tenant. Whatever is decided, I will keep you informed as to our plans. Now I must go; we are on our way to London, a long drive, and Aunt Clara does not like the coach to travel at much more than walking speed for fear it causes her discomfort.’

  There was what looked like another gleam of amusement, but it was gone so swiftly Catarina could not be certain.

  ‘What did you want to say?’ he asked.

  ‘I found your sister in tears last night. She is dreading being in London. My lord, she is not ready for Society! I should know, I was barely sixteen when I was wed to Walter, and I was utterly lost.’

  He stiffened and she was expecting a rebuke. His tone was cold.

  ‘My aunt can be trusted to know best.’

  ‘You have just apologized for her rudeness to me. Think how much worse it can be for a young girl who feels that, as she is a member of the family, she has to be obeyed!’

  ‘I hardly think that is your business, my lady.’

  ‘I agree, but at least give Olivia an opportunity to explain. She will be stiff and feel s
tupid, and gain a reputation she can never throw off. If you want her to make a good match she needs to be presented in a better light than your aunt is likely to provide for her. That is all I have to say, but I hope you will be considerate of your sister’s feelings!’

  He did not reply, but pursed his lips, and she hoped she had not made things even worse for Olivia.

  She went with him to the front door to discover Olivia waiting to get into the ponderous travelling coach, while Jeremy, looking dashing in his breeches and riding boots, his coat lapels just an inch too wide, and his shirt collars an inch too high, held the reins of two magnificent riding horses.

  Olivia dropped Catarina a curtsy and muttered shy thanks for her hospitality, then gripped her hands convulsively and tried to say something else. She could not speak, and turned guiltily in obedience to her aunt’s command to stop dawdling and get in the coach. The maid followed, the steps were raised, the doors shut, and the two sturdy horses set the coach moving in lumbering motion.

  Catarina turned to the men to bid them farewell, just as Joanna came out of the house.

  ‘Has that dreadful old woman finally gone? Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there,’ she said, giggling, and looking from under her eyelashes at Jeremy, who grinned back at her.

  ‘And we must be gone too, though at the speed that coach moves we could spend another few hours here and still catch them up long before they stop for the night,’ Jeremy said. ‘How about you showing me more of the gardens than I have seen so far, Miss Norton?’

  To Catarina’s relief his brother vetoed the idea. ‘You will have plenty of time to see the gardens in the summer, when there will be more to see. Now we must escort the ladies. Goodbye, Lady Brooke, Miss Norton, and thank you for your hospitality.’

  He took the reins of a black, strong-looking stallion from Jeremy and swung up into the saddle. Jeremy seized Catarina’s hand and raised it to his lips, looking at her with laughing eyes as he did so.

  ‘Farewell, Cousin. You too, Miss Norton,’ he added, releasing Catarina and taking her sister’s hand. ‘I trust we will have many more meetings, on less sad occasions.’

  Joanna dimpled. ‘Oh, yes, so do I.’

  Catarina wanted to chastise Joanna, tell her such flirtatious behaviour was indecorous, but she was feeling too stressed from the past dreadful few days to take the risk of another argument. They watched the brothers ride after the coach, and Joanna gave a little skip of excitement.

  ‘Let’s go and inspect the Dower House. I’ve never been inside, but it looks a pretty house, square and compact, not rambling like the Grange. I love planning rooms and decorations. There is a big double drawing room, isn’t there? What fun! You will let me help, won’t you?’

  Chapter Two

  LORD BROOKE SAID little in reply to Jeremy’s comments as they rode away from Marshington Grange. There was a great deal to think about. He was angry with his aunt for her unfortunate remarks, with Catarina for her interference over Olivia, even angrier with himself that he had not made more effort to find a different chaperon. He knew what Lady Keith was like and might have anticipated her abrasive behaviour. He had few female relatives, but if he had stopped to consider he could surely have found a suitable older woman from the ranks of his late mother’s many friends. It had been an unfortunate introduction to his cousin’s widow. Perhaps he should reconsider the plan for Olivia to stay in London. Then he felt angry again that he was permitting someone else’s opinion to influence him.

  He tried to think of other things, but the vision of Catarina telling his aunt some much deserved home truths made him want to laugh. She had looked just a slip of a girl, in her rather outdated mourning clothes. He could scarcely believe she had been married for eight years. And she had faced him at his most imperious, flinging up her chin in defiance when she had expected him to scold her. No other girl he’d met had done that to him. Most were too anxious to make a good impression. Perhaps that was why he had never wished to make any of them an offer. Once again he tried to force himself to think of other matters.

  Marshington Grange would be an ideal small estate for Jeremy, and he could probably break the entail in order to gift it to him, but his brother had no intention of quitting the army. With Napoleon at large again, there was every prospect of more fighting, and too many of the crack troops from the victorious Peninsular army had been sent to far off corners of the globe. Others had been pensioned off. He himself had left the army when his father died a few years before, but he was seriously wondering whether he ought to re-enlist. Wellington might need all the experienced men he could find.

  Ought he to ask Catarina – he couldn’t think of someone so young and beautiful as a countess – to remain at the house, in charge of the estate, or could he find and install a suitable tenant? Despite his annoyance with her over her criticism of his plan to send Olivia to London, he accepted that she had seemed to him a superbly capable young woman. The tenant farmers had spoken well of both his cousin Walter and Catarina. The house had run smoothly, the servants were well trained and from the brief tour he had made of the estate it was obviously in good heart, though there were a few matters he hadn’t had time to investigate which worried him slightly, and he meant to deal with them as soon as possible.

  Most of the villagers were still using the old three-field system, which was wasteful and inefficient. That would need to change. Yet if he did ask her to oversee everything she might resent it, consider he was imposing on her. She was much younger than he had expected. He’d known Walter had married a much younger wife, but he was surprised at how beautiful she was, despite the unflattering and outmoded black gown. The two branches of the family were so distantly connected, he himself had been in the army at the time and, as Walter rarely went to London, Nicholas had not known more than the barest facts. Had she wanted to marry a man so much older? Had the title persuaded her?

  He had never expected to inherit the title. There was a shortage of men in the family so it had been a tenuous relationship: Walter’s grandfather and his own great-grandfather had been brothers. And once Walter married a young wife he would have been expected to sire his own sons. An ancient dispute between his grandfather and Walter’s father had ensured the families were not on more than terms of civility when they met accidentally. They never paid visits, even though their principal houses were but a day’s ride apart.

  Unlike Lady Keith, he had no quarrel with Walter’s will. He was wealthy enough to be able to maintain the estate, even if the revenues from the entailed property proved insufficient. His father and grandfather had both married heiresses who had brought substantial fortunes into the family.

  His thoughts swung to Catarina again. She was a difficult woman to dismiss from his mind. He knew little about her, but his aunt’s strictures on her parentage were, he suspected, spiteful guesses. A younger son, her father had made his own fortune by importing wine. He knew that much, and that her uncle was well-regarded in Bristol where he was influential in the town. If Joanna’s remarks were accurate, their mother was from a good family. Both girls seemed well educated, and ladylike, despite Joanna’s tendency to flirt with his brother.

  He glanced at Jeremy. The boy was handsome, popular amongst his fellow officers, a welcome guest in Society whenever he was on leave, and had an adequate income from what his mother and grandmother had left him. He was, however, too young at four and twenty to contemplate marriage. He himself, six years older, did not yet feel the need to marry and set up his own nursery. There were too many complaisant young matrons bored with their husbands and offering distractions for him to want to lose his freedom just yet.

  When they reached the inn where they planned to spend the night he shrugged off his preoccupations. There he might hear more news about Bonaparte’s escape.

  It was a lovely morning in May and Catarina, having admired the spring flowers in the meadows as she walked to the Dower House, and picked some bluebells to brighten up the drawing room, had been
talking to the estate carpenter about the final details to the changes she was making there. She had just turned to walk back to the Grange when Sir Humphrey Unwin appeared.

  She sighed. He and Walter had been friends since childhood, had done the Grand Tour together and, when they had both settled down on their estates, been fellow Justices. He rode over almost every day, offering all sorts of advice and help, and looking hurt and woebegone when she refused. He often brought news of what was happening in France, the progress of Bonaparte and the mobilizing of the Allies in Belgium, but he pooh-poohed the idea that it would come to a battle.

  ‘You should not worry, my dear. The French will see sense.’

  She could hardly tell him she was not worried. It all seemed rather far away from her present concerns.

  As she was wondering whether she ought to invite him to take a nuncheon with her, the sound of an approaching carriage made her glance towards the lane.

  A very smart curricle was turning into the driveway to the Grange, which ran past the Dower House. Seeing her, the driver, wearing a many-caped coat, halted his equipage and alighted. Catarina recognized Lord Brooke and her pulse began to beat rapidly. It was the shock of suddenly seeing him, she told herself. Before she could wonder what brought him here he had handed the reins to his tiger and was striding up the path towards her.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I’m pleased to have met you, as I have very little time, I have an appointment with my agent soon. Your servant, Sir Humphrey. Lady Brooke, may I have a few words?’

  Sir Humphrey, looking disgruntled, acknowledged the greeting and turned to Catarina.

  ‘I had better take myself off, my dear, if you have business with his lordship. You won’t want me to interfere. Perhaps I will ride over again tomorrow, if there is further news. Goodbye.’

  Before she could prevent him, he seized her hand and raised it to his lips. Over his shoulder Catarina could see Lord Brooke’s sardonic gaze, and resisted the temptation to snatch her hand away.