“Interfering child,” her mother murmured.
“I think Deverill is a little shy about the quality of the craftsmanship,” she continued, prevaricating as she went along, “and Melissa had to go to great lengths to convince him of her interest in the drawings over the skill of the artist.”
“Nevertheless, I shall have Sir Vincent on hand,” she insisted as she wondered what she could do to help bring about a proposal. She would, of course, never consent to anything superbly improper but perhaps leaving Catherine and Deverill alone in the drawing room for a shade longer than a moment might help matters along. “One never quite knows what’s going to happen, does one?”
Catherine agreed with this statement and let the subject drop. If her mother was determined to hold on to some thin strand of hope, then who was she to deprive her of it? Instead, she said, “I fear that I am suffering from the headache. Do you mind terribly if we leave now?”
Eliza looked at her daughter and realized that she did not look well. “You poor dear, you must be exhausted from all the excitement, and we can’t have you accepting a proposal with pale cheeks. That wouldn’t be at all the thing. Where is Evelyn?” Her eyes swept the dance floor until she found her younger daughter’s gleaming head. “Ah, there she is, dancing with Mr. Finchly. They make a lovely couple, don’t they? We shall wait until this set is over and leave at once. Ah, there, the music has ended. Here they come now.”
Catherine watched her sister approach and was surprised to see the cross look on her face. I wonder what caused that, she thought, recalling the happy girl in the carriage ride over.
“Mr. Finchly,” Lady Fellingham said to the young man next to her daughter, “thank you for returning my dear child to me. We must take our leave now. I’m afraid Catherine isn’t feeling quite the thing.”
Evelyn’s face instantly brightened at this communication. “Oh, pooh, what a disappointment. Do we really have to go?” she asked, pouting in the usual way but not imbuing her words the smallest drop of sincerity. “But I suppose we must if Catherine isn’t feeling up to scratch. Goodbye, Mr. Finchly.” She raised her hand as if to wave goodbye, but Finchly caught it in his grasp and gave it a lingering kiss. Evelyn pulled away. “Enough of that, Mr. Finchly, or people will talk.”
“Let them talk,” he said, laughing in a way that made Catherine cringe. “I am sorry we’ll not be able to get that lemonade together.”
“Oh, well,” she said indifferently. “Mama, we shouldn’t stand here like this. Poor Catherine looks as if she might faint.”
Taking her cue, Catherine put a hand to her forehead and tried to look frail. “No, I’m sure I’ll be fine,” she said weakly.
“Of course, dear, we must get you home and into bed as soon as possible. You have a big day tomorrow. Goodbye, Mr. Finchly.” Eliza put an arm around her daughter and led her to the entrance. “Come along, dear. Here, Evelyn, let me take Catherine’s reticule. You shouldn’t have to bother with it. What a lovely evening, wouldn’t you agree, dears? Why, I had no idea Almack’s could be so very wonderful. Did either of you try the lemonade? It was quite excellent.”
CHAPTER NINE
The next morning Catherine kept out of her mother’s way, staying in bed later than usual. On her lap sat a book that she had been trying to read, but she couldn’t concentrate. How could she concentrate when she needed to come up with a plan, something that would ensure that she would not be at home when Deverill arrived? What errand could she invent? She racked her brain for something she needed, but there was nothing to be done. Besides, she knew her mother would not let her walk out of the house any time that day. At least not until Deverill called to propose.
Propose—ha! What would her mother think if she knew the truth? Lady Fellingham probably wouldn’t be surprised. If she’d thought about it logically instead of launching into transports, she would have known that Deverill’s interest was too good to be true. In six years, nary a gentleman had paid a jot of attention to her eldest daughter, and now Deverill, the primest of the prime catches, was dangling after her. It was a lovely story, yes, but the stuff of fairy tale, not real life.
No doubt Deverill looked at her long career of failure and thought her inured to the appeal of a handsome beau. That was probably why he’d played with her expectations—because he assumed she was too old to have any.
It was funny, Catherine allowed, in a gallows humor sort of way, because she had assumed the same thing. It was humiliating and oddly exhilarating to realize an old maid such as she still nurtured hope. Perhaps one day, when she was over this demoralizing and perfectly absurd heartbreak, she would try to find another man who made her laugh as much as he.
For now, however, while the pain was fresh, she could not go through with the interview. If she couldn’t calmly walk through the front door without getting caught, she would sneak through the back door or even a window like a thief. She would do whatever she had to to avoid seeing him again. Of course, she realized such a solution would work only for today. Deverill and she inhabited the same social sphere and would inevitably run into each other periodically. She couldn’t very well climb out of windows in the middle of balls. But she had existed on a separate social plane from him prior to Lady Courtland’s plan to rehabilitate her and she would simply return there.
Catherine slid out of bed and dressed without Betsy’s help. As her plan was to steal away, it seemed wise to call as little attention to herself as possible. She put on a pink lawn walking dress and kid boots. She examined her appearance in the mirror and decided she looked passable, despite the headache that lingered from last night. She doubted it would go away until she was out of the house and safe from Lord Deverill’s presence. Because she was still pale, she pinched some color into her cheeks and went to find Melissa. In order to minimize the ruckus her sneaking out would cause, she needed her sister’s help.
Melissa was in the schoolroom as usual, practicing her French.
“Catherine!” her sister called happily.
“I don’t want to interrupt, Biddy,” she said to the governess. “I wanted only a quick word with Melissa.”
“Please, go right ahead.”
Melissa clapped her hands. “Yay! Are we going to the museum again?”
Catherine laughed. “No, imp, but I do have a favor to ask you. I don’t have time to explain, but I need you to visit with Lord Deverill this afternoon. He’s going to come by to see me, and I want you to see him instead. I’m not going to be here.”
“Where will you be?”
“I don’t know. The lending library, I suppose.”
Of course Melissa wanted to know why. She’d always been a curious child and could sense something was afoot.
“That isn’t important,” she dismissed, loath to tell her the truth for a variety of reasons, the most important of which was she didn’t want to confess her cowardly behavior. “What you must remember is that Deverill is here to show you the drawings he did. Remember, he promised.”
“Does he draw? How wonderful. But Julian has never mentioned any drawings to me,” Melissa added.
“I know he hasn’t, darling, but you must tell Mama that he did or she will be very, very cross with me.”
Melissa examined her sister with oddly penetrating eyes, which discomforted Catherine. After a long while she said, “It’s not like you to ask me to lie so I must assume that this is very important to you. I am sorry that you feel you cannot trust me with the truth, but whatever it is, you know that you can rely on me. I’ll tell Caruthers to inform me the very moment Julian arrives, and then I will bound downstairs like the veriest piece of baggage and ask him where his drawings are.”
Catherine hugged her sister. “Thank you. And perhaps one day I will tell you what this is all about. I assure you, you’ll find it—and me—very silly.”
“I could never do that,” she promised earnestly.
“Don’t be so sure, my darling. But I must go now. I’ll see you later.”
Catherine knew that the hour was growing late and that she must leave now before the servants started laying the luncheon table. She put on her coat and grabbed her reticule from her room before heading to the back staircase. In the hallway, she ran into Evelyn.
Seeing her sister dressed so, Evelyn said, “Catherine, where are you going? Mama says that Deverill is coming here this afternoon to propose to you. Should you not be here to receive him?”
“I will be back in plenty of time,” she said confidently and moved to slip past. Catherine didn’t think that Evelyn would realize anything was amiss, for she rarely showed enough interest in other people to give their motives proper consideration. However, this assumption proved false when her sister stepped to the side to block the passage.
“Is there something wrong, Catherine?” Evelyn asked.
“No, why do you ask?” She heard a noise behind her and turned around nervously, but nobody was there. Wonderful, she thought, standing in the hallway, all she needed now was for Mama to come up and ask her where she was going.
“You are heading toward the back stairs,” Evelyn observed. “That’s highly unusual.”
It was, Catherine thought churlishly, inconceivably bad luck that her sister chose today of all days to become perceptive. For years, she’d walked around the house seeing nothing but her own nose and now suddenly she was noticing highly unusual behavior in others. “Nothing is wrong, I assure you. Now please let me pass.”
Evelyn did not find this answer satisfactory and stood firmly in her sister’s way. “No. Come into my room. Let’s talk.”
Catherine wasn’t given the opportunity to decline because Evelyn, with more force than her sister thought her capable of, grabbed her arm and well-nigh dragged her in the bedroom. “There is nothing wrong. Now I will be on my way.”
Evelyn ran to the door and threw herself bodily against it. “Catherine, I am trying to be a good sister here. I suggest you make this easy for me or I might not make the attempt again.”
Catherine laughed. Her sister looked earnest and cross at the same time. “I am sorry. I hadn’t realized you were making a remarkable effort.”
“Apology accepted,” she said graciously before autocratically demanding, “Now tell me what is wrong. Why are you sneaking out of the house just as Lord Deverill is coming to propose?”
“He isn’t coming here to propose,” she said quietly.
As vain as ever, despite her newfound perception, Evelyn immediately thought of herself. “It’s because of me, isn’t it?” she asked. “You are afraid of hurting me further so you have chosen not to let Deverill propose.” She leaned in and gave her sister a hug. “You are a dear, sweet friend, and I must insist that you don’t let your feelings for me get in the way of your future happiness.” The arms holding Catherine tightened, and she was again amazed by her seemingly fragile sister’s strength. “Yes, of course I was upset at first. That you would step in like that and steal my beau struck me as patently unfair, and my behavior was somewhat extreme. I apologize for that. But now I can accept that Deverill and I were never meant to be. I see the way you and he get along together, and it is sweet in an old people sort of way. He and I never had very much in common, probably because I haven’t lived nearly as long as he. It was only my pride that was hurt by his desertion. Now that I’ve realized that, I am very happy for the two of you and also very proud. After all, I clearly brought the two of you together.”
Catherine listened to this remarkable speech, at once amazed and amused that her sister could demonstrate an unprecedented level of maturity while at the same time revealing herself to be as fascinated with herself as ever.
“I appreciate your apology,” she said, gently extricating herself from her sister’s fierce grip, “and I assure you that my running away has nothing to do with you. I should like to be on my way now.”
But Evelyn wasn’t done being generous yet. “Would that I could believe that,” she announced, her hand to her forehead.
Catherine knew she could think of a convincing lie to appease her sister’s conscience, but she realized she didn’t want to make the effort. The truth was the truth and she might as well admit to it now, for Evelyn would find out eventually.
“Then do. Deverill is not coming here to propose. He never had any interest in me at all. It’s too much to explain now, but suffice to say he was spending time with me only as a joke. You were right all along,” she admitted, successfully keeping the bitterness out of her voice. Indeed, she made it sound as if it didn’t bother her a bit.
“No, Catherine, don’t say that,” Evelyn cried, genuinely distressed by the notion. “I know I said something like that, but I was angry and being spiteful. You know how I can get sometimes when my temper runs away with me, but I never meant it and it’s not true. You’re a wonderful person, and if Lord Deverill cannot see that, then the devil with him. And if he thinks he can come here this afternoon and tease you in your own home, he’ll learn his lesson.” Her eyes grew distant as she began to scheme. “Yes, I think it is best that you go out. Don’t worry about a thing here. I’ll take care it of. I’ll show him that you can’t toy with the affections of my sister without paying the price.”
Catherine was extremely touched by Evelyn’s obvious concern and loyalty, two traits she had rarely demonstrated before, but she was also terrified of what she might do. “On second thought, perhaps I should stay.”
But Evelyn would have none of it. “No, you were right. You must leave. I’m on the case now. Besides, if nothing else, I owe you for saving me from that horrid Mr. Finchly last night,” she said shuddering. “I find that man thoroughly unnerving. It’s his hands, you see. You think they’re in one place and then all of a sudden you discover they are in another.” She opened the door a crack, peeked out and sighed with relief. “Go quickly while it is safe. There’s no one out there.”
Catherine stood there looking at her for one more moment, silently considering her will-o’-the-wisp sister who suddenly seemed made of steel. She laid a kiss on her cheek. “You are a dear sister,” she said before slipping out into the hallway, down the stairs and out of the house.
Unused to being on the streets of London without her maid, Catherine decided to go straight to the lending library after all. It was a route she was familiar with, and as much as she longed to explore the city, she knew it wasn’t safe for a woman alone, even in the middle of the day.
She had been looking through the stacks for twenty minutes when she heard a voice say, “Why, there’s my new friend, Miss Fellingham. Come along, Cecilia, you simply must meet her.”
Recognizing the musical trill of the beautiful Clarise Menton, Catherine turned around with a ready smile on her face. “Hello,” she said, happy to have a distraction. As she browsed through the books, she had contemplated running home and confronting Deverill, an impulse she knew she’d regret should she indulge it.
“What do you have there?” Miss Menton asked, looking at the novel in Catherine’s hand. “The Mysteries of Udolpho. Really, my dear, I must insist that you put that right back. Atrocious book.”
“I liked it,” said the woman next to her. She had blond hair and brown eyes in direct contrast with her sister’s appearance, but they looked enough alike that one could tell they had the same parentage. “And I think you should read it, Miss Fellingham.”
Miss Menton took the book from Catherine’s grasp. “Don’t listen to my sister. She positively adores the gothics. The silly thing loves being frightened by ladies hiding under ethereal veils of lace.”
“Oh, pooh, you’re going to give away the whole book.”
Catherine listened to this interchange with a growing sense of amusement. The two sisters had the easy affection that she and Melissa shared. “I think I shall leave the book for now since I still have The Italian at home.”
The younger Miss Menton cheered. “There, you see, Clarise, she has taste after all. I knew I would like you from the moment I laid eyes on you.
You have such pretty hair. We haven’t been introduced, but I am Cecilia. It is very nice to meet you.”
Catherine assured her that the pleasure was likewise hers and asked them what they were doing there.
“We just stopped in on the way to the milliner. We are going to buy Cecilia a new bonnet by a Madame Claude, I believe she’s called. To be honest, I am not quite sure where we are going. I just follow Cecilia around. All our shopping excursions consist of my following Cecilia around,” Clarise explained amiably. “Though I don’t know why she needs a new bonnet. I could have sworn she already has a million.”
This drew a laugh from Catherine. “I know. My sister is exactly the same.” Thinking of Evelyn and being more in charity with her than she’d been in years, possibly ever, she asked if she may come along.
“That would be delightful,” Clarise said.
“It shall be like a party,” added her sister. “I do so love shopping parties.”
“Well, if Catherine is ready…” Clarise looked at her inquiringly.
“Oh, yes, I am not taking any books.”
“And your abigail?” Clarise asked.
Catherine blushed and confessed in a whisper, “I didn’t bring one.”
“Good for you,” applauded her new friend. “I hate having to bring one everywhere, and as soon as I can unload this piece of baggage on some unsuspecting young man, I am going to stop. I maintain the proprieties only for Cecy’s sake.”
“That’s very good of you,” said her sister good-naturedly as they climbed into the coach. “I know how trying this must be for you, to go to parties and balls and picnics in the park.”
“My sister thinks I’m a curmudgeon,” Clarise said.
Cecelia shook her head in denial. “Not curmudgeon, a misanthrope.”
Miss Fellingham's Rebellion Page 15
