by Jane Goodger
“Would you please tell Mr. Norris that Lord Avonleigh is here and would like to welcome him home.” Graham said this loudly enough that Charles could hear him. He was quite certain Charles cursed beneath his breath before calling out, “Let him in, Prajit, he’s an old friend.”
If Graham didn’t know he was looking at Charles Norris, he would not have recognized the man. The Charles he remembered was slim and elegant. This man looked as if he could tear a house down with his bared hands. He’d always been tall, very nearly as tall as Graham, but his elegance had made him appear smaller. His skin was now darker than the typical Englishman’s, his hair longer, his face less shaved, his dress negligent.
“What the deuce happened to you?” Avonleigh asked without preamble.
“India,” Charles said, glaring at Prajit as if it were somehow his servant’s fault. “And a bit of Africa thrown in for good measure.”
“India is kind to those who are kind to India,” Prajit said calmly as he returned to unpacking Charles’s trunk.
Charles glared at the man, but Graham had the distinct feeling he wasn’t truly angry. It was then Graham realized Charles was still sitting, and sitting rather awkwardly, with one leg stretched out. Charles apparently noticed his curiosity and rubbed his leg. “I got caught in the middle of a skirmish,” he said.
“I was led to believe relations with India were quite good,” Graham said, searching his mind for any news of discontent in India.
“Ah, but our relations with some in the African continent are not so good. I was in the Gold Coast.” Prajit mumbled something under his breath in Hindu, gaining a dark look from Charles. “I wouldn’t let them take the leg. Or rather, Prajit didn’t let them take it. Still hurts like a devil, though.” As if to prove his point, Charles suddenly tensed, his face contorting. “Bloody fucking hell,” he said, grasping his leg. Prajit immediately came to his side, holding a vial out to Charles, who batted his hand away.
“How long has it been?” Graham asked.
“Ten hellish months. But the leg’s much better,” Charles said, laughing at the dichotomy of such a statement. “The ride here wasn’t good for it, but I’ll be fine in an hour or two. How have you been, Avonleigh?”
“Better than you, apparently,” Graham said dryly. “I’m getting married.”
“Married. I haven’t been looking out the windows much of late, but I haven’t heard of pigs flying. Or hell freezing over.”
Despite himself, Graham chuckled. “She’s a lovely American girl.”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “Ah, then it’s true,” he said.
“What is true?”
“An heiress. I’d heard rumors.” Charles shrugged, and Graham was flabbergasted.
“How long have you been back in England?” Graham asked, rather shocked that his friend could have possibly heard such a thing so quickly. Perhaps he was naïve, but he truly hadn’t known it was common knowledge that he was in financial straits. Good God, the creditors would come pounding on his door at any moment.
“I’ve been home two weeks.”
“And the rumor mill was able to reach your ears?”
Charles grinned. “I saw Willington, you idiot. He was giddy about his wife’s pregnancy and mentioned you were seriously looking for a bride. I suppose it slipped out.”
“I think she’s had ten brats by now,” Graham said.
“This is number five,” Charles said, his cheeks beneath his tanned skin turning slightly ruddy.
“They are happy,” Graham said, rather shocked to see that Charles was still sensitive about the subject of Melissa. Then again, he had made quite a cake of himself all those years ago by falling for a woman who was already in love with their good friend John Atwell, Lord Willington. Now that he thought about it, Charles had a habit of falling in love quickly—and with the wrong woman. “Makes one rather ill to watch the two of them together. And what of you? Do you have a wife?”
Charles smiled. “That’s why I’m here. To find myself one.”
That night, the group played charades—men against the women—and it was great fun for Katherine watching a stone-faced Graham try to entertain. Honestly, the man looked like he was attending a funeral, not playing an amusing parlor game. He’d been joined by a man Katherine didn’t recognize, a striking gentlemen who reminded her of the frontiersmen who lived in the wilderness of America. He was rugged, with too-long hair and a square jaw that looked like it had been shaped by an ax rather than a blade. His eyes were strangely intense—and often on her—which was rather disconcerting, if not a tiny bit thrilling.
The two teams wrote various subjects on small bits of paper and placed them in a hat that the other team would have to pick from. Each member of the team—there were conveniently eight men and eight women—would get the chance to draw out a piece of paper and act out whatever was on the card. It had been Claudia who’d come up the game’s theme: happy things. She’d said this and clapped her hands, charming everyone in the room with her childlike enthusiasm. The minute the words came from her mouth, Graham frowned. Likely, it would be difficult for him to come up with something happy, Katherine thought. She caught his eye and raised one eyebrow, acknowledging this fact, and he very nearly smiled. She thought she detected the slight glint of amusement in his eyes.
The first charade, acted out expertly by Mrs. Von Haupt—who strangely enough seemed to be enjoying herself—was Christmas pudding. The men’s first charade was new ball gown (this submitted by Claudia), and General Lawton had the party in stitches as he acted it out. Next to her, Katherine’s mother wiped tears of mirth from her eyes as the general dipped a curtsy after the men had guessed correctly.
An hour later, Lady Haversly stood, grabbed a piece of paper, and smiled. The score was tied, and this was the very last clue. The women all leaned forward, ferocious in their desire to best the men. She held up her hand, showing two fingers. “Two words,” the women said in unison.
Then, Lady Haversly held her hands in front of her face and squinted her eyes. “Fear,” shouted one lady. “Monster.” “Light.”
“Oh, bright,” Claudia said triumphantly as Lady Haversly touched her nose, indicating that was, indeed, the right answer.
Then the lady put one fist atop the other. “On,” her mother shouted.
Katherine scanned the men, who were enjoying the scene being acted out by Lady Haversly, and stopped dead at Graham. From the look on his face, she knew he was the one who’d put this piece of paper in the hat. He was staring at her in a way that made her entire body flush. She quickly looked away, her heart thudding heavily in her chest, as Lady Haversly made a great show of thrashing her arms about. “Beach,” Katherine murmured. “Brighton Beach.”
“What? What did you say, Miss Wright?”
Katherine lifted her head and studiously avoided looking at Graham, feeling unaccountably angry. “Brighton Beach,” she repeated.
The women clapped, ecstatic that they had won the game, and Katherine forced a smile. Brighton Beach came under the list of “happy things” for Graham. Of all the things he could have chosen—a fine cigar, French brandy, a new horse—he had chosen Brighton. It was a private declaration made publicly that Katherine had to hold secret in her heart. And that simply reminded her of what they had done together that morning. Katherine felt Claudia look at her, and Katherine turned, forcing a smile.
“Isn’t it wonderful we won?” Katherine asked.
Claudia nodded, but a little furrow was showing between her brows, as she no doubt remembered that Brighton Beach was where she’d met Graham.
After the game, the guests dispersed to follow their own entertainments. Mrs. Von Haupt dragged poor Claudia over to the pianoforte, admonishing her to play, which she did adequately. Those who had not retired for the evening sat around the room in small groups. Her mother and the general had bidden Katherine a good night, and Katherine got an anxious feeling in her stomach at the easy way the two of them had departed the room. As if th
ey were a couple, as if they were a married couple headed off to sleep—together.
“They may not be,” Graham said in a low voice next to her.
It truly hadn’t occurred to Katherine that her mother might be carrying on an affair right under her nose until that very moment. It was unthinkable. Her mother was married to her father. Such a thing was so far beyond Katherine’s imagination, having it bloom in her mind suddenly was disorienting.
She looked up at Graham, the horror of the situation clear in her eyes.
“Take care, Katherine, every thought in your head is clearly showing on your face.”
Katherine schooled her features with great effort. “Do you think they might be . . .”
Graham sighed. “I would be surprised if they were not,” he said gently.
“But . . . she’s my mother. And they’re so . . . old. And she’s married to my father!”
Graham shrugged and she wanted to punch him in the arm for his casual response. “There are far more shocking things you can discover about a parent. But please remember, Katherine, her decisions, while they may not be something you agree with or can even stomach, have nothing to do with you or how she feels about you. Unless she is discovered,” he added sardonically. “Then I suppose it would affect you rather greatly.”
“How can you be so blasé? Is this how you feel? Will you have an affair after your marriage?”
Graham’s eyes shifted momentarily to Claudia, who continued to struggle through a Chopin piece. “I have no plans to, but I am only human.”
“That is a ridiculous answer,” Katherine said, hating that his eyes had flickered to Claudia. She knew what she was feeling—jealousy. She’d known all along that Graham would marry Claudia, but it did nothing to stop her heart from screaming. She wanted to throttle him—and herself for wanting even now to press her lips to his. “Do vows mean nothing?”
“Life is long, Katherine, and marriage is forever.” He sounded weary.
“I think now I understand.”
“What do you understand?”
“Why you can act this way with me. You are, for all intents and purposes, an engaged man. Yet at every turn, you pay me attention. No doubt this is how men in your world are. No doubt I’m simply a silly girl, a diversion from your insipid life.”
“You’re angry,” he said, sounding just enough surprised that Katherine momentarily was blinded by her anger.
The man who’d been staring at her all night walked up to Graham’s side, and Katherine immediately schooled her features into something more pleasant.
“Ah, Norris. Let me introduce you to Miss Katherine Wright. Mr. Charles Norris,” Graham said with an ease that made Katherine even angrier. How could he be so calm when she wanted to throttle him?
Katherine knew her cheeks were flushed, and no doubt her smile didn’t seem as genuine as it might, but she did smile as she held out her hand.
“A pleasure, Miss Wright,” Charles said, taking her hand and bowing gracefully, a movement that seemed slightly at odds with his rough appearance. “How are you enjoying England so far?”
“I suppose it depends on the day, Mr. Norris,” Katherine said. “And with whom I am keeping company.”
Graham stiffened slightly, and Katherine’s smile widened. “Then I shall have to rescue you the next time you find yourself in onerous company,” Charles said.
Katherine laughed, surprised that the gentleman was so charming. And since her laughter seemed to bother Graham, she laughed a bit louder and a tad longer than she might have otherwise.
“Mr. Norris has been living in India,” Graham said. “Returning there soon, are you?”
“I’ve no plans to, no,” Charles said easily. “I’ve missed England and its dreary, cool weather. In India it’s either raining incessantly or brutally hot. Or at least that’s how it seemed to me.”
Katherine looked coolly at Graham. “My lord, have you introduced Mr. Norris to your fiancée?”
“She is not my fiancée,” he ground out.
Katherine waved a dismissive hand. “A mere technicality.” Then, turning to Mr. Norris, she asked, “Where is your wife, Mr. Norris?”
Charles smiled, and Graham clamped a hand on his shoulder in what seemed a friendly gesture. “As a matter of fact, I find myself in need of a wife,” Charles said, ignoring the hand on his shoulder.
“There are many delightful young women in England. I’m sure someone will catch your eye,” Katherine said, giving him what she knew was her best and most charming smile. She hoped Graham would feel one small bit of what she felt when he looked at Claudia.
“I think someone already has,” Charles said, then winced. Graham dropped his hand.
“Leg bothering you?” Graham asked, all solicitous innocence. Charles gave his friend the oddest look just then, almost as if he couldn’t believe Graham had asked that question. “Yes, my leg,” he said as he rolled the shoulder Graham had just been touching.
Claudia came up to their group and put her arm around Katherine’s waist, giving it a quick squeeze. “We’re playing whist and I need a partner. Come on.”
“If you could spare a moment, Miss Von Haupt. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Mr. Charles Norris.”
Claudia looked up at him with her China-blue eyes and smiled politely. “A pleasure, Mr. Norris,” she said, and Katherine thought she heard just the slightest emphasis on “mister.”
Graham watched the woman he likely loved being dragged away by the woman he would likely marry, until a soft chuckle distracted him.
“I cannot believe my bad luck,” Charles said. “I finally meet a woman I would like to court, only to find out yet another of my friends has staked a claim.”
“You are mistaken,” Graham said with calm finality. “I have no claim on Miss Wright.”
Chapter 9
What in God’s name had he done? He’d practically given Charles carte blanche to court Katherine, something both of them seemed to be enjoying. Charles might not be the vacant boy he’d once been, but the chap still knew how to flirt and capture a girl’s attention. From the looks of it, he had Katherine’s full attention.
Disgusted, Graham sought out Claudia and wished her a good night, but not before she happily noted Charles’s interest in Katherine.
“I think they look charming together, don’t you, my lord?”
Graham forced himself to look at the pair, who chatted amiably with Lady Haversly. The older woman and Charles seemed completely enraptured in whatever it was Katherine was saying, damn them both. And not once did she look to see if he were still in the room. Apparently Charles had her complete attention. And why shouldn’t he? He was a good man from a wealthy family. Amiable. Available.
“How unfortunate for both of them that he hasn’t a title,” she said mournfully.
Graham’s brows furrowed. “I daresay that’s not important to Miss Wright.”
Claudia laughed as if that were the greatest of jokes. “Of course it’s important to her. Why, it’s all she can talk about. What title is this and what title is that. Of course, she hasn’t the dowry to attract a grand title, but surely she can do better than a mister.”
“His father is a viscount, Miss Von Haupt. His blood is as blue as that of anyone else in this room.”
Claudia pursed her lips. “But he still hasn’t got a title, and I’m certain Miss Wright would never consider him.”
“No, and it’s unlikely he’ll obtain one anytime soon as his brother, who is next in line, already has three sons. I bid you good evening, Miss Von Haupt. Perhaps I’ll see you in the morning. I hear an outing is planned to some nearby ruins.”
“Good night, Lord Avonleigh.”
He knew he should have corrected her and given her license to call him by his given name; they were having a private conversation, after all. But he simply couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Graham entered his room and went directly to a decanter of brandy, poured a hefty amount, and took a
long drink.
“Pleasant evening, sir?” Mr. Chase asked.
“As always, Chase,” Graham said, turning his back so the valet could remove his jacket.
“A new guest has arrived,” Mr. Chase said in a way that Graham knew this new guest was someone important.
“Do you mean Charles Norris? Yes, I know.”
“No, sir. Mr. Von Haupt has arrived, sir.”
Graham was about to take another sip of brandy, but paused momentarily before downing the rest of it. He would have sworn loudly, but he knew how much Chase hated curse words.
“I imagine there will be an announcement soon, sir?”
Was Chase purposely trying to grate on his nerves? Or was he genuinely excited about the news of his engagement?
“I imagine so,” Graham said, as if the pending announcement was his own date for the gallows. He wished at that moment he’d never met Katherine Wright, that he’d never gone to Brighton Beach, that he’d never known what it was like to finally feel something other than mild interest in a woman. She was angry with him and he supposed she had a right to be. He acted like a besotted idiot when he was around her, fully aware that nothing could ever come of it. Good God, it was a wonder she hadn’t slapped him. He deserved it.
“I ought to be horsewhipped,” he said, sitting down upon his bed.
“I do think that’s a bit harsh, sir. Perhaps a caning would do.”
Graham let out a chuckle. “You always were soft, Everett.”
Mr. Chase busied himself about the room, brushing Graham’s jacket and putting his collar aside for cleaning later, while Graham brooded and looked at his empty glass.
“Sir,” Mr. Chase said, breaking the silence. “If I may be . . .”
“Yes, be frank. You have infinite permission to speak frankly,” Graham snapped, then instantly felt badly about it.
The valet simply raised an eyebrow and continued. “What do you truly know about this Miss Wright other than the fact she lied outright to you when you met?”
