Annie grimaced, then smiled.
“Thank you.”
Her mother had been surprisingly understanding, although brief in her comments on Catherine’s insistence on staying home.
“Don’t stay in your room all day, at least.”
Catherine shrugged.
“I’m downstairs already, and I’ll stay. I can read down here just as well as upstairs.”
Arthur’s gift had been a less than uplifting story of an heiress who made bad decisions when it came to suitors. She wasn’t sure how her brother had meant her to take such a present, and how she should understand it, but the writing was compelling and she wanted to find out if the girl finally figured out that she had been wrong, just as Catherine had. In a way she felt better, knowing that it was such a common problem that a story had been written about it, but feeling less like a fool did not alleviate her sadness. Will had seemed so sincere. Could someone be that good at lying, even about feelings?
“Catherine. You must stop with the daydreaming. I say this for your own benefit.”
Her mother was speaking to her quietly, aside from Sarah and their father. Sarah must have been saying something amusing, because their father was smiling down at her with ease. Sarah looked so much more like him than their mother, with her darker hair and eyes a clearer blue than either Catherine or Arthur’s. She had also inherited his sense of humor and ability to navigate social situations with pleasure and grace.
“When the Vanderbilt boy returns from his travels sometime after the turn of the year, you will find him very agreeable. You can put all of this behind you, and enjoy a secure marriage without this emotional upheaval.”
Emotional upheaval. It was a good turn of phrase, and Catherine felt it accurately described the insecurity that weighed upon her, as well as the continuing lack of surety that refusing to allow Will to explain himself wasn’t right, for him or for her. But if she saw him again, she knew she would not be immune to the feelings that still stirred in her heart, and she wasn’t sure she could be objective.
“Objective? Love is not objective. The mumbling must stop as well. This is a new development, and it doesn’t please me.”
Had she spoken out loud? Catherine held back a sigh.
“I’m sorry. For everything.”
She was shocked as her mother leaned into her and kissed her forehead. The number of times her mother had kissed her could be counted on one hand, and Catherine never expected her to do so once she reached adulthood.
“There is a time for everything, my girl. You will see.”
With that, her mother turned away, and Sarah shot Catherine a questioning look, her brows drawn together as she looked from Catherine to their mother. Catherine shrugged and held her book close to her chest as she watched them leave. She would settle in the cushioned window seat that faced the ocean, she thought, just as the fresh, warm scent of sugar cookies filled the room.
“Maddie?”
The housekeeper bustled around the perimeter of the room, obviously charged by Catherine’s mother to keep an eye on her.
“Yes, Miss Catherine?”
“Do you think Cook would mind if I stepped into the kitchen and watched her bake, just for a little while?”
She thought she saw Maddie’s eyes cross just a little, and realized that asking such a thing was not usual for her or anyone else in her family. Surely her mother spoke with Cook every day, but Catherine and Sarah? It just wasn’t done without a good reason.
“Of course, miss. But it’s quite warm in there, and you wouldn’t want to dirty your dress, now.”
Catherine smiled.
“There are worse things than a dirty dress, aren’t there, Maddie?”
Maddie bowed her head, hiding her sudden smile.
“Yes, miss. There certainly are.”
Cook was an undetermined age, older than Catherine and Sarah but not old enough to be their mother, or at least Catherine thought she looked too young to have a grown child.
“If you allow me to borrow an apron, I’d like to help with those.”
Cook had laughed pleasantly when Catherine appeared in the kitchen, unannounced and unexpected, but took her presence in stride.
“What a lovely surprise, Miss Catherine. It won’t hurt to have some kitchen knowledge when you’re married and have your own household to manage, will it?”
The mention of marriage almost made Catherine turn around and leave the stuffy room, which was large and open, with windows that allowed the sun in, unlike the kitchen at the shelter. Still, it was full of the heat of the oven, and Catherine could see that trays of cookies were already cooling on the counter.
“I thought that you all would like something warm when you returned from your drive today, so I wanted to start on these before the meal.”
They were sugar cookies, just as Catherine had suspected when she first caught the scent, and she smiled. Cook looked at her just then, and smiled in return.
“I can cut and roll them, or ice them. Please let me know how I can help.”
Cook stopped her efforts at rolling a large ball of dough and blinked as she looked at Catherine.
“Might I ask where you’ve learned such skills, miss? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of teaching you or Miss Sarah, have I?’
Catherine blew a lock of hair from the side of her face before she answered, and was reminded of the time Will found her covered with dough and flour, unable to push the hair from her eyes.
“A woman at Arthur’s shelter taught me. Her name is Grace.”
Cook reached into a tall cabinet and pulled out an apron, bleached clean and white from hanging out in the sun. Josie used to hang their laundry out to dry, Catherine remembered, also thinking of how she had never noticed until her mother had begun to yell at Arthur for his affection for the maid.
“I do know her. A fine woman and an excellent hand at baking indeed.”
She handed Catherine the apron, and as Catherine tied it around her waist, she found herself wondering more about Cook.
“Do you have children of your own?”
The older woman stopped, rolling pin in hand.
“I’m sorry, it’s a very personal question and none of my business. At least do you mind if I ask your name?”
The dough began to thin out over the wooden surface of the table, and it was a heartbeat or two before Cook responded.
“Rachel. That’s my given name. From the Bible. It’s right appropriate, too. My life has been a lot of waiting.”
Catherine wanted to ask what she meant, but she could see that Rachel was thinking, and didn’t want to interrupt what she was going to say. She reached over and took a metal cutter in the shape of a star from a neat line along the side of the table, waiting for Rachel to finish rolling so she could press the form into the dough.
“I had a child, once. She did not live long, but I think of her every day. She is in the good Lord’s arms, and I will see her again. I don’t know how I could go on living if I didn’t believe that, miss.”
“Oh,” Catherine said, knowing that it was an inadequate response to such a revelation.
“But you have a whole life ahead of you, Miss Catherine. You don’t need to hear about my trials. Besides, she’s been gone a long time, and she wouldn’t have had a life like yours, that’s for sure. As much as I wish she was with me, she is probably better off as she is.”
Catherine sucked in a breath, thinking of Arthur and Josie, and the love they already shared for their own baby, who was still months away from birth.
“What about your husband? I am sure he was a comfort when you lost her.”
Rachel stopped rolling the dough again, her arms stiffening.
“Miss Catherine, you are asking questions that I don’t believe your mother would be pleased for me to answer.”
Catherine stilled in the silence that followed, unsure how to proceed. What did Rachel mean?
“I won’t refuse to answer you, miss, but I won’t
ask you to lie to your mother if she ever asks what you know of me. Nothing good comes from lies, does it?”
She looked at Catherine then, and Catherine stopped herself from taking a step back. Of course Rachel knew what had happened between her and Will. She shook her head slowly, forcing herself to meet Rachel’s gaze.
“No, you’re right. I don’t mean to be nosy, and this is your private business. I only want to know more about you. It seems I know so little of anyone who works here, and I am ashamed to say I never thought of it until Josie became part of the family.”
Rachel relaxed at the sound of Josie’s name.
“Ah, she’s a good girl, and worthy of the happiness she’s found. She and her mother have had a difficult time themselves, and her own troubles now. But she’ll be back soon, and I can’t say I won’t be happy to see her again.”
The dough flattened under Rachel’s efforts, and Rachel nodded to Catherine, who then began to press the star into it.
“I never had a husband. He was promised to another and was never meant for me, but he said he loved me best. I wasn’t good enough for his family and I knew it, but I still . . .”
Catherine kept making stars in a close, neat fashion so as not to waste a bit of dough between the shapes, listening carefully.
“So she wouldn’t have had a father, and I would have had trouble keeping employment to care for her.”
When Rachel stopped speaking, Catherine glanced at her but found she was working her hands at a new ball of dough, as if she hadn’t just been divulging some intensely personal and painful story of her past.
“I am sorry, for what that is worth.”
“Ah, miss, perhaps it is more than you know. And your mother, she hired me knowing this, after I was turned out elsewhere for not telling them about it when I was hired. She’s a fine, upstanding woman, for all she is strict with us. She knows it is not an easy road to happiness, not even for her own children.”
The more Catherine discovered about her mother, the more conflicted she felt about her. Of course she loved her, but there was so much that seemed contradictory.
“Now, I think your parents and Miss Sarah will enjoy these cookies all the more knowing that you had a hand in baking them, don’t you?”
Catherine sighed, thankful that Rachel had turned the conversation and drawn her from her own thoughts, which were making her head spin. Rachel had been given a second chance, by her own mother, who was one of the most judgmental people Catherine knew. For now, however, Catherine would let herself enjoy her time baking with Rachel, a woman who had lost so much but still smiled as she worked, doing her best to serve the Davenports with her skills and time.
“Do we have a horse form, by any chance?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Will hadn’t slept well and his uncle as well as the Van Aldens not only noticed, but had been militant about dragging information from him, Mrs. Van Alden on his relationship with Catherine, and his uncle and Mr. Van Alden on his plans for the future. All Will could think about was Catherine, and the pain he knew was his fault, clear on her face through the shine of her tears. He walked out to the Davenport estate three times in the weeks since he had seen her, wanting to kick himself for not following her right away. Mrs. Van Alden spoke of the New Year’s Eve ball Mrs. Davenport was planning, and Will couldn’t think of a worse torture than attending it, of watching Catherine and wondering if she thought of him. He would have to go, though, or it would cause a stir for them both.
The second time Will asked to speak with Mr. Davenport, Arthur had not been present to turn him away, and the housekeeper had instructed him to sit while she fetched someone. Catherine’s father appeared, unsmiling and yet not unkind in expression.
“Thank you, Maddie. I will be in the study with Mr. Travers if I am needed.”
The housekeeper’s eyes were impossibly huge as she stared at them both. Surely the servants knew who he was by now, and perhaps they would tell Catherine that he was there. What would she think of his persistence? Would it annoy her, or prove to her that he wanted only to tell her the truth?
“Sit down, boy. I will hear what you have to say, but I don’t know that I will like it. I don’t like the change in my Catherine, and it is my understanding that your deception is the cause of it.”
Arthur’s hands were shaking as he touched the high back of the leather chair, stepping around it to sit as instructed. He would probably jump off the cliffs if Catherine’s father told him to.
“Yes, sir. If I may be so bold, I haven’t been honest with anyone since I’ve arrived, and only just told Catherine, very briefly, to what extent I’ve lied. But I couldn’t explain, as there was no time. Or rather, I hadn’t told her before she found out herself, and I should have, long ago.”
Mr. Davenport stared at him, unblinking. His eyes were a dark, intense blue, unlike Catherine’s gray-blue ones, which were more like her brother’s. Will had to concentrate to keep from squirming in the chair.
“My son, and his wife, have been the instigators of change around here of late. One practice Arthur has taught me that I have found invaluable is to pray before speaking. Pray for guidance, diplomacy, and honesty. In your case, perhaps add courage and forgiveness to that list. I am in no hurry, and my daughter’s feelings are bound to your past behavior, so I am prepared to wait.”
Will kept his mouth shut when it nearly fell open, and he clasped his hands tightly in his lap. Heavenly Father, he thought, attempting to clarify his thoughts as he looked down at the shiny new shoes his uncle had just purchased for him. I trust you to lead me as I speak, for Catherine’s sake more than my own.
He returned his gaze to Mr. Davenport’s and opened his mouth, the words to explain his journey from the City to Newport, to his love for Catherine and interest in continuing to help at the shelter as well as work for Mr. Van Alden, falling from his lips as if they were not his at all. Above everything else, he emphasized his concern for Catherine and his desire to tell her everything himself, even if it would be the last time he ever spoke with her. When he finished, Mr. Davenport stood up, and Will followed suit. He wasn’t sure what he expected the older man to say, but the silence continued as the two of them walked towards the door, Mr. Davenport leading the way.
“I will not interfere if you wish to talk to her, but if she does not want to see you, I will support her, as you must understand. You should know that her mother and I have made tentative arrangements for a pleasant match between her and a very upstanding young man, so you do not have much time to plead your case. When I say plead, I mean that quite literally.”
Will stood at the door as Mr. Davenport opened it and looked into the hall, gesturing towards the housekeeper, who Will suspected may have been listening. She rushed forward in response.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please see Mr. Travers out, Maddie.”
“And William,” he began as Will turned away. “I will not force her to marry against her wishes, so if there is any doubt in her mind . . .”
Will nodded.
“I understand, sir. Thank you. Thank you very much.”
He allowed Maddie to walk ahead of him, wanting instead to turn towards the great staircase and call out to Catherine, who might not even be at home. Instead, he kept his eyes on the maid’s back, his gaze continuing forward as he stepped out of the house and returned to the Cliff Walk for his walk back to the Van Alden home.
Will wondered if Catherine’s father would tell Arthur everything. Arthur was key in finding a way to speak to Catherine, especially now that Will knew that Mr. Davenport would not stand in his way if Catherine consented.
“We’ll have dinner, then we can talk to them all about your involvement in the company from the first of the year on. They will understand that you’ve been through a great trial, and are the stronger for it, as not everyone is. And you’ll take your rightful place, as you’ve been meant to. Of course, there are still difficulties of a financial nature, but the funds
we were unable to unearth earlier this year have been discovered, and so . . .”
What was his uncle rambling on about?
“William!”
Will jumped in his chair, and he looked up to find his uncle and Mr. Van Alden watching him. His uncle looked annoyed, and Mr. Van Alden looked confused and amused at the same time.
“I’m sorry, sir. There is a lot for me to think about just now, and I think it’s time I set some priorities.”
“Ah,” his uncle boomed, and Will couldn’t help but note the differences between this man and Will’s father, for all that they had been brothers. Will’s father was smaller, more compact, and not nearly as loud. They had the same smile, though, and as Will swallowed hard against the sadness of his memories, he looked at his uncle’s expression and forged ahead with an unspoken prayer.
“I have never had a lapse in memory, and have lied about my identity since arriving here in Newport. I am also in love with Catherine Davenport, although she has been made aware of my falsehoods and I am afraid she will never forgive me for what I’ve done.”
The room became deadly quiet and Will covered his face with his hands, leaning on his elbows on the table.
“Good God, boy! What sort of thing is that to say first thing in the morning!’
Will peeked out from behind his fingers like a reluctant child.
“I have to admit that I could tell something wasn’t right about your memory problems, but I trusted you anyway.”
Van Alden pulled Will’s gaze from his uncle’s shocked stare.
“I’m sorry?”
“There was just something wrong, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. My wife sensed it as well, but we both could see the goodness in you, and your desire to work, along with Arthur’s recommendation. If whatever you were keeping with us was dangerous, he never would have allowed us to take you in, which would have been a loss. We love having you here, and I enjoy working with you immensely. I hope you will consider staying, although I do understand your familial obligations.”
Crown of Beauty Page 17
