He fully intended to apologize for upsetting her at the ball. He had been out of line snapping at her, when his frustration had been with Philip’s ability to make her smile and laugh every time they were in company with one another. Crispin hadn’t been able to even find Catherine the night before, while Philip had spent an obviously pleasant interlude with her on the terrace.
A knock at the door interrupted Crispin’s musings and, within minutes, Hancock passed him with yet another bouquet. Finley!
“One minute, Hancock.” Crispin stopped the butler as he walked the flowers to another half-round table.
Crispin pulled the card from within the flowers and opened it, his insides boiling all over again. Hancock gave him a very disapproving look, which Crispin completely ignored. He refused to stand idly by and allow Finley to send love missives to Catherine.
The handwriting on the card, however, didn’t look like Finley’s.
To Lady Cavratt,
With the hope that this day is better than yesterday and that Lord Cavratt’s flowers are more impressive than these.
Lampton
Philip? Was there a gentleman in all of England who wasn’t sending Catherine flowers? And what on earth did Philip mean by “Lord Cavratt’s flowers”? What flowers? The man had lost his mind!
Another knock. Crispin’s jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. Now what? No doubt Hancock would open to door to find every flower in London awaiting Catherine’s approval.
He stood determinedly on the spot waiting for another nauseating bouquet to pass by. Instead, Hancock escorted a bespectacled man of middle years into the entryway.
“Mr. Brown,” Hancock announced unnecessarily—Crispin would have recognized his family solicitor without the introduction.
Crispin firmly shook Brown’s hand. Mr. Brown seldom came to Permount House. “This must be urgent.”
“Quite.”
Crispin had learned shortly after inheriting his father’s title and all it entailed that Mr. Jebediah Brown was a man of vast knowledge and ability but very few words.
“Lady Cavratt will be needed as well.”
“Of course.” Crispin nodded to Hancock to send for Catherine. The butler immediately set out to fulfill the order. “Have you learned more of Lady Cavratt’s inheritance?” Crispin asked as he led Brown to the library.
“I would prefer to wait for her ladyship.”
That did sound serious. The silence between them hung heavy and thick as they waited. Was Brown’s discovery good or bad? From the look of the man, he had not brought glad tidings.
The library door slowly opened some five minutes later. Crispin’s heart beat a bit harder as a beautiful face framed by rebelliously loose honey locks peeked around the door and a pair of sapphire blue eyes locked with his. How did this woman who was receiving flowers from all and sundry wreak such havoc on his equilibrium?
“Come in, Catherine.” Crispin tried to smile encouragingly.
She moved slowly, cautiously to where he stood. “You wished to see me?” Catherine hadn’t seemed so uneasy in his presence since the first days of their marriage. The twinkle of amusement that had lit her eyes so often over the preceding weeks was entirely absent.
His frustrations seemed extremely unimportant in the face of her unhappiness.
“These came for you.” He had intended to burn the notes that Philip and Finley had sent to Catherine. Doing so still seemed like the logical and sensible thing to do. Still, he handed them to her, simultaneously hoping and fearing that receiving such flattering correspondence from two eligible gentlemen would bring a smile back to her face. At what point had he become such a glutton for punishment?
Catherine took the cards with obvious wariness. Crispin watched closely as she read the note from Finley. Would she be pleased by his attentions? Embarrassed at Crispin’s knowledge of them? To his surprise, and satisfaction, she looked almost ill.
“He sent flowers?”
Crispin nodded.
“Would it be bad ton to burn them?” Catherine asked with the slightest lift to one eyebrow.
Crispin felt a tug at the edge of his mouth. Catherine could see right through the man. An encouraging sign of intelligence.
Catherine laid Finley’s note uncaringly on a side table and turned her eyes to Philip’s.
Lizzie had masterminded that possible match. Crispin abhorred the idea. But how did Catherine feel?
“‘Lord Cavratt’s flowers’?” she reread aloud with confusion. Then she turned her eyes to him. “Did you get me flowers?” A hopeful smile unexpectedly lit her face. “Oh, Crispin. I love flowers.”
“I . . . um . . .” Crispin struggled for a reply that wouldn’t wipe the brilliant smile from her face. His reluctance seemed to answer her question, however.
“Oh.” Catherine looked away again, her smile only a distant memory.
Blast Philip.
Mr. Brown hovered silently over the leather chair at Crispin’s desk, waiting for his employer’s convenience. Crispin indicated a chair nearby for Catherine, which she took without a word or glance in his direction. Who would have guessed that not giving his wife flowers could land a husband in such deep waters?
“What is it you wished to discuss, Mr. Brown?” Crispin opted to pursue a topic he stood some chance of comprehending, the female mind not being fathomable at the moment.
“I received this earlier this morning.” Brown held out a crisp piece of parchment. “A letter from a solicitor representing the interests of Mr. Thomas Thorndale.”
Crispin’s back straightened abruptly at the name, every muscle in his body tensing. He glanced anxiously at Catherine, who had turned a touch paler.
“He plans to challenge the legality of your marriage,” Brown said.
That made absolutely no sense. What interest did Thorndale have in their marriage? And why would he, of all people, question its validity when he had been the one to push it through?
“What does that mean?” Catherine quietly asked.
“The license under which you were married was not legally obtained,” Brown said. “Based on that, he intends to claim in court that your marriage was never legally binding.”
“Our marriage isn’t legal?” Catherine’s voice sounded so small.
“It is legal,” Brown interjected, “until declared otherwise by an ecclesiastical court. But an annulment, as I advised his lordship, is fairly unlikely without also undertaking a criminal trial.”
Catherine looked understandably confused. He hadn’t told her about Mr. Brown’s doubts. Marriages were extremely difficult to annul—the church having the exclusive right to grant them and being decidedly in favor of leaving marriages intact. Publicly charging Thorndale with criminal activities connected to Doctor’s Commons, and, thus, the church, would help sway the ecclesiastical courts in favor of the annulment.
“Does Thorndale have legal standing to contest the marriage?” Crispin avoided the questions in Catherine’s eyes.
“As her guardian, he has standing.”
“But once she married, he was no longer her guardian.” Crispin stopped at the desk. He watched Brown with growing alarm, a sense of foreboding quickly setting in.
“Unless the marriage never legally took place—something he has every intention of arguing.”
“But Thorndale is the one who obtained the license.” Crispin stood behind Catherine’s chair, watching the solicitor for some sensible explanation. “By pointing out to the ecclesiastical courts that he did so illegally, he would implicate himself.”
“Thorndale is not seeking an annulment directly,” Brown said. “He is pursuing criminal charges.”
Criminal charges? “Against whom?”
“Against you, my lord.”
Crispin froze. Thorndale planned to bring charges against him? What in the blazes was going on? An uncomfortable hush settled over the room. All the color had drained from Catherine’s face. Crispin sat in the chair beside hers and took hold of her h
and—only because she was in obvious need of comforting, of course.
“Explain.”
“His solicitor informed me that Mr. Thorndale will argue, in a civil court, that you illegally obtained a marriage license and then duped him and his niece into going forward with the unbinding marriage ceremony.”
“Why would he do this?” Catherine sounded almost pleading. “He insisted on the marriage. He washed his hands of me and sent me off. He has been perfectly clear that he wants nothing to do with me.”
“Has he renewed his interest in you, Lady Cavratt?” Brown asked. “Contacted you?”
“Several times.”
“He came here three times.” Crispin tensed at the memory. “He was cast from the premises on the third occasion. That was the last time.”
“Actually, he has contacted me twice since then.”
Thorndale had been in Permount House? Why wasn’t he told? Why hadn’t Catherine informed him?
“He sent a letter yesterday,” Catherine said.
“What did he say?” Brown asked.
“He insisted I remove to Hill Street—his London home—and then return to Yandell Hall in Herefordshire.”
“Asserting his rights of guardianship.” Brown adjusted his spectacles. “And the other contact?”
“At the Littletons’ ball last night,” Catherine whispered.
“He was at the ball?” Crispin turned to fully face her.
She nodded. “In the gardens. He literally dragged me out of the ballroom.”
She had been in the gardens with her uncle? Not Philip. Not Finley. Crispin had indulged in a bout of self-pity, leaving Catherine to the machinations of Mr. Thorndale. What a pathetic excuse for a husband he was.
“Did he reiterate his earlier instructions?” Brown asked.
“Quite forcefully.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Crispin’s heart sunk at the thought of Catherine facing Thorndale alone.
“How could I? He wouldn’t let me leave.” Catherine took an unsteady breath. “If Lizzie and Edward, and Lord Lampton, for that matter, hadn’t noticed my absence and cared enough to search me out, Uncle might very well have dragged me directly to his house with no one the wiser.”
Her words hit their mark. He had noticed she’d gone missing, but she didn’t believe he had—what was her word?—cared enough to look for her. In reality, he had cared enormously. But convinced he’d find her cozying up with someone else, he hadn’t gone looking.
Crispin rubbed his face with his hands. “What does all this mean?” he asked Brown. “Why the criminal charges and not an annulment?”
“I believe it is an issue of time, my lord. Annulment proceedings are notoriously slow and often ineffectual.”
“The most direct explanation would be best, Mr. Brown.” Crispin rubbed his temple with his free hand, unwilling to release Catherine’s.
“Our efforts at uncovering the amount and nature of Lady Cavratt’s inheritance came to the attention of Mr. Thorndale. He had not been aware of the legacy and came to Town in order to ascertain whether or not he was entitled to a portion of it.”
“The meeting with his solicitor,” Crispin muttered. Thorndale had given that as the reason for his visit.
“The inheritance was, in fact, left to Lady Cavratt, through her mother but with certain unusual stipulations. She cannot inherit until her twenty-first birthday, which I understand is in two weeks’ time.”
Catherine nodded.
“And her ladyship only inherits if she is married or a widow.”
“I have never heard of anything like that,” Crispin said.
“It is unusual but legally sound.”
“Since Thorndale is challenging our marriage, I assume he stands to benefit in some way from doing so?”
Brown nodded. “If Lady Cavratt is unwed on her twenty-first birthday, the entirety of her inheritance reverts to the Thorndale estate.”
“My uncle gets it all.” Catherine pulled her hand from his and rose, walking stiffly to the windows.
He felt helpless, frustrated. Thorndale continued to hurt her, and Crispin couldn’t manage to prevent it. “Why is he not pursuing an annulment? That would make more sense.”
“As I said, my lord, annulments take time. The inheritance is to be dispersed in whole the day of Lady Cavratt’s birthday, based on her marital status at that time. The will does not allow for retroactive challenges. Thus, Thorndale’s challenge must be upheld before Lady Cavratt’s birthday for his argument to prevent her from inheriting. He hopes, I think, to have the legality of your marriage questioned enough for the inheritance to be given to him.”
“And the criminal charges?” Crispin leaned his head against his fist. “At the risk of sounding arrogant, it is highly unlikely his accusation would stick when brought against a Peer.”
“He wants the money,” Catherine said from the window. “Wealth has always been paramount to him. Wealth and control.”
Brown nodded his agreement.
“The inheritance must be substantial for Thorndale to go to so much trouble,” Crispin said.
“Over fifty thousand pounds,” Brown replied with a heavy look.
Crispin bit back a curse that would have left Catherine blushing.
“This is why he wished me to return home with him?” Catherine asked.
Brown nodded once more. “He would insist your husband sent you away and that Lord Cavratt views you as expendable.”
“That is ridiculous.” Catherine expendable? What utter rot! “He can’t expect this to work.”
“He only needs it to work enough. I understand he is on very good terms with a magistrate here in London—his suit would likely be heard by the end of the week.”
“That is awfully convenient,” Crispin muttered.
“Your options are, I am afraid, limited. You could counter his arguments with your own. Accusing him of obtaining the illegal license would certainly silence him, your word carrying far more weight than his.”
“But still placing our marriage in an unflattering light,” Crispin said. “Undermining its legality would do neither of our reputations any good.” Especially Catherine’s.
“You could file your annulment papers immediately,” Brown continued. “He might very well abandon the criminal charges and use the pending annulment as argument against the marriage.”
Crispin shifted uncomfortably. He’d been avoiding those annulment papers for weeks. The idea simply hadn’t set well for a while.
“Or you can move forward with the marriage and hope your standing is enough to weather the inevitable storm.”
How infuriatingly frustrating. A criminal trial and a marriage undermined by questions of legality. Catherine would never recover from such a public scandal. His standing would suffer despite the ridiculous nature of it all. They would both be the subject of censure and ridicule, though Catherine would inevitably suffer most.
“Please let me know as soon as possible what you decide.” Brown rose to his feet and straightened his coat. “Criminal trials require the services of a barrister. I can contact one if you’d like.”
Crispin shook his head. “I am on very close terms with Mr. Jason Jonquil.”
Brown nodded in obvious approval. “A very respected and talented barrister. I will be awaiting your instructions.”
Crispin let out a whoosh of air after Brown’s departure. What a mess. He could feel Catherine’s eyes on him.
He rose and turned toward her. She stood at the window, shoulders slumped, emotion heavy in her eyes. He had failed her again.
“What do you plan to do?” she asked.
“I’m not sure.”
Something about his response upset her. Her expression crumbled, tears suddenly falling.
Feeling the need to do something, he held his arms out to her, and Catherine rushed into them, her open hands pressed against his chest, her head resting against his cravat. Crispin wrapped his arms around her and an emptiness he didn
’t realize he’d been feeling dissipated.
“I have had a very rotten few days,” Catherine said quietly, her voice fluid and emotional.
“I’m sorry.” Crispin rested his head on top of hers, taking a lungful of rose scent. He felt her lean more heavily against him. He could so easily imagine her always in his arms.
Why was he still debating with himself? He hadn’t favored an annulment for weeks, if he were honest about it. They got along well and he had certainly grown fond of her. He cared for her. They hadn’t been graced with the ideal beginning, but that did not necessarily mean they couldn’t make something of their marriage.
Of course, Catherine’s position on the issue remained a mystery. Lizzie firmly believed Catherine could not be happy in a marriage that had been forced on her.
“It seems we will need a great deal of cream to thwart my uncle this time,” Catherine said.
Her unexpected humor brought a chuckle to the surface. “Gallons of it, I fear.”
Catherine lifted her head and looked up at him. “Perhaps this magistrate friend of his also ‘dislikes’ cream.”
“Did you not tell me that bribing a magistrate is a crime?”
“We wouldn’t be bribing him.”
“Threatening a magistrate is probably a more serious offense.”
Catherine smiled at him. “It seems your criminal tendencies have rubbed off on me.”
He adored that smile. She couldn’t be completely opposed to their marriage. She wouldn’t have turned to him for comfort nor felt reassured enough to laugh with him if she wanted nothing more than to be rid of him.
“What a mess he has made.” Catherine sighed, leaning into him once more. “If only Uncle had waited two more weeks. He only wants the money, I’m certain of it. He would never have done this if not for the inheritance.”
“It is unfortunate he didn’t learn of the legacy after it was too late.”
Catherine tensed in his arms. What had he said? Was she upset? She pushed away from him, a look of deep contemplation on her face.
“Two weeks isn’t so very long,” she said. To Crispin’s disappointment, Catherine pulled away entirely but kept her eyes fixed on him. “If he could be . . . delayed, somehow . . . for only a fortnight . . .”
The Kiss of a Stranger Page 18
