The Rebellious Ward

by Joan Wolf

  During the time of her cousin’s absence Catriona finally began to grow. She added less than two inches to her height, which still left her decidedly on the small side, but at last her figure began to develop. The duchess was relieved to see that her beloved hoyden was turning into a presentable-looking young lady. Catriona’s skin was still too dark, but it did make a contrast for her strange light-green eyes. Diccon’s eyes had been that color, but his had not had the exotic slant that made Catriona’s so disturbing. Nor had his lashes been so outrageously long and dark.

  In her heart of hearts the duchess thought Catriona looked foreign. She did not have a drop of English prettiness about her. But she had a lovely figure, her great-grandmother thought loyally, so slender and lithe and sweetly rounded. And she had a smile that would light all of Piccadilly. And the most generous, loving heart in the world. The duchess wouldn’t have traded her for all the golden-haired, blue-eyed English girls in London.

  The duchess was not the only one to notice the change in Catriona. Both Henry when he came home from Eton and George when he came home from Cambridge looked at her with different eyes. So did the squire’s boys, who had been like brothers to her for years.

  “You’re growing up, Kate,” Frank said to her one summer day as they fished by the lake.

  “I haven’t gotten much taller,” Catriona complained. “I was hoping to at least reach the level of Edmund’s eyes.”

  “I like you just the way you are,” said Frank, and his voice was suddenly husky. “Have you ever kissed anyone?” he asked tentatively.

  Catriona laughed. “Well, I’ve kissed Grandmama and Edmund, of course.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.” Frank leaned a little closer. “I meant—have you ever kissed a boy?”

  Catriona shook her head and regarded him speculatively. He was so very familiar to her: the straw-colored hair, the clear blue eyes, the pleasant grin.

  “Would you like to try it?” he asked, very low.

  “All right,” said Catriona, who was always game for a new experience.

  Frank moved even closer and then he took her face between his hands. He bent his head and put his lips on hers. Catriona closed her eyes. His mouth was warm on hers, and she found the sensation of being kissed very pleasant. When Frank dropped his hands and sat back she smiled at him.

  “That was nice,” she said.

  Frank’s blue eyes darkened. “Kate,” he said. “Would you like to try it again?”

  Catriona shook her head and stood up. “I’ve got to get going. Grandmama will be looking for me. She’s got someone coming in to teach me to dance. Isn’t that fun?”

  As Frank swung himself up into his saddle, he reflected that she had sounded as enthusiastic about the dancing lessons as she had about his kiss. He thought she showed a sad lack of discrimination.

  Two weeks later George asked if she wanted to go boating with him. Catriona agreed and suggested they include Henry and Margaret in the outing.

  “The second boat has a leak,” George said hastily. “There’s only room for two, I’m afraid.”

  The duchess and Henrietta made no objection to the expedition. George and Catriona had been companions for years. And so the two cousins set out together for the lake.

  It was a warm August day, and the sun beating down on the water made Catriona feel very hot. She unbuttoned the top two buttons of her muslin dress and didn’t notice how George stared at her exposed throat.

  “You’ve grown up, Kate,” he told her.

  Catriona looked surprised. “I suppose I must have. Everyone seems to be remarking on it lately.”

  “Who has been remarking on it?” he demanded.

  “Well you have. And Squire Winthrop. And John. And Frank.”

  George rowed for a few minutes in silence. “Now that you are growing up,” he said finally, “you ought to be careful about who you go about with. Her Grace doesn’t seem to keep a very close eye on you.”

  Catriona looked at him in astonishment. “Don’t be ridiculous, George. I’ve known everyone at Evesham for years.”

  When they had docked the boat, they sat on the grass to eat the luncheon the cook had packed for them. Catriona’s hair was tied on top of her head for coolness, and the ribbon that held it was the same pale-green as her eyes. There was a faint beading of sweat on her thin-boned nose and upper lip.

  “Has anyone ever kissed you, Kate?” George asked.

  Catriona put down her apple and looked at him. “Yes,” she said.

  George felt a flash of fierce jealousy. “Who?”

  Catriona picked up her apple and took a bite. “Frank,” she said. “The other day.”

  “You see!” he exploded. “Do you understand now why I warned you before to be careful of who you go about with? That sneaking cur. I’ll call him out for this.”

  Catriona crunched her apple. “Don’t be an idiot, George,” she said with amusement. “He didn’t attack me. He asked if he could kiss me and I said he could. I was curious to see what it would be like.”

  “You let him ...” George stared at her. “Do you love him, Kate?” he asked then, very low.

  “Of course I love him. He is one of my very best friends. Just as I love you. And Henry, of course, and Martin.” Martin was Frank’s younger brother.

  “Would you kiss me, Kate?” George asked in a trembling voice.

  “Why is there all this sudden interest in kissing?” asked Catriona.

  “Come on, Kate,” said George. “You let Prank.”

  Catriona put down her apple. “Oh, all right.” She held up her face for him.

  George’s kiss was a little more daring than Frank’s. He also put his arms about her. Again Catriona found it to be not an unpleasant experience at all. When he let her go, she reached up and patted his cheek. “Now are you happy?” she asked.

  George was staring at her with a very strange look on his face. “Yes,” he finally gulped. “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “Good. I think it’s about time we were getting back. Grandmama will begin to wonder if we’ve drowned.”

  They both got into the old gig that George drove.

  “I’m almost twenty now,” George informed her as they proceeded back toward the castle. “When I’m twenty-one I become my own man, have control of my own money and estate. Edmund won’t be my guardian any more.”

  “I’m certain he will be very happy to continue to advise you, George,” Catriona said sympathetically. “I shouldn’t worry too much about the responsibility.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant.” George was annoyed.

  “Oh. I’m sorry. What did you mean?”

  “I meant that I would be in a position to get married.”

  “Married!” Catriona stared at him in astonishment. “You’re awfully young to be thinking of getting married, George. Do you know any girls?”

  He gave her an odd, slanting look out of his brown eyes. “I know you,” he said.

  Catriona hooted. “I hope you don’t want to marry me!”

  “Why not? We’ve always gotten along, haven’t we? I mean, we could do worse than to get riveted one day, don’t you think?”

  “I think you are talking a great deal of nonsense,” Catriona replied vigorously. “We are both of us far too young to be thinking of marriage. It’s just plain silly. I’m sure Edmund wouldn’t hear of it.”

  “Is Edmund ever coming back?” George asked after a minute’s silence.

  “I don’t know.” Catriona heaved a mournful sigh. “He’s been gone for ages and ages. Isn’t it just awful without him?”

  “Yes,” said George with very little enthusiasm. “I suppose so.”

  Chapter Seven

  Edmund returned home the following November. Catriona had been looking for him for days, but the weather was stormy and his boat from France was delayed. She was in the schoolroom with Henrietta and Margaret working on a pair of embroidered slippers she meant to give to Henry for Christmas when a footman came
to tell them that His Grace had arrived and was asking for them.

  “He’s home!” Catriona dropped her embroidery and flew to the door.

  “Kate, please wait for me,” called Henrietta, to no avail. Catriona was halfway down the stairs and didn’t hear her. Henrietta and Margaret followed at a more civilized pace.

  The duke was standing by the chimneypiece when Catriona burst into the room.

  “Edmund!” she shrieked and flung herself into his arms.

  “Catriona!” said the well-remembered voice somewhere next to her ear. He laughed. “Still as sedate as ever, I see.”

  Catriona’s cheek was against his. She could feel the harshness of his beard against her smooth skin. Her full young breasts were crushed against the hardness of his chest. She had a sudden sensation that she would like to stay just like this for the rest of her life. But Edmund’s hands were on her shoulders, and he was moving her away from him. “Let me look at you,” he said, and his voice now sounded odd and breathless.

  Catriona smiled up at him. “Oh, Edmund, I’ve missed you so. Why did you stay away for so long?” Her eyes devoured his beloved face:

  the dark-gray eyes, the thin, high-bridged nose, the severely beautiful mouth. No other man in all the world was as handsome as Edmund. She was quite certain of that. “You’re wearing your hair longer,” she said. “I like it.”

  “You’ve changed your hair as well,” he replied. His voice had become extremely, consciously steady.

  “Yes. Cousin Henrietta said I was too old for plaits anymore.”

  He was standing only a few inches away, yet suddenly and quite discernably he went away from her. “You’ve grown up,” he said.

  Catriona looked at him out of wide, questioning eyes. “Only the outside of me has changed. Inside I’m just the same.”

  He smiled. “I’m sure you are,” he said. He looked across the room. “Meg,” he said with great warmth. “How are you, my dear? And you, Henrietta?” He moved away to greet the new arrivals, and Catriona was left, bewildered and forlorn, alone before the chimneypiece.

  As the weeks leading to Christmas passed and the household busied itself with the preparations that were necessary for the reception of a very large house party, Edmund’s attitude to Catriona remained the same: pleasant, polite, distant. It made Catriona utterly miserable. Clearly she had fallen out of favor with him, but she did not understand why.

  Ever since she had come to Evesham Castle at the age of nine, Edmund had been the most important figure in her life. And she had known for many years now that of all his family she was the one dearest to him. She had not deserved his regard; she had often been wild and neglectful, slighting his advice, lazy about her lessons, but still he had loved her. Since childhood he had watched over her and cared for her. It was with her that he had shared all the warmth, the charm, the unexpected humor of his character. She knew a side of him that she thought he had only revealed before to her father. There was a bond between them, strong, steady, constant, the source of all her security and comfort. His going away had not broken it. But it seemed his coming home had. And for the life of her, Catriona could not understand why.

  * * * *

  A few days before Christmas the guests started arriving at Evesham. Since time immemorial every member of the Faversham family who was physically capable had spent the Christmas holiday at the Castle, seat of the head of the family. The whole house was opened up to accommodate them, and numerous friends were invited as well. As all the relatives and friends were also accompanied by personal servants, the great house was filled to capacity. Meals were served in the dining room, the schoolroom, and the nursery. Catriona, because she was not yet officially out, ate in the schoolroom with Margaret, Henry, and the children of their guests. Edmund had decreed that George might dine with the adults. George, however flattered he was by the honor, soon discovered that he would rather eat with the children. There was great merriment in the schoolroom; the dining room in comparison was insufferably dull.

  Catriona soon had a circle of admiring young men who followed her, teased her, laughed with her, and admired her. The weather was cold and crisp, the season happy, the hunting splendid, and Catriona’s natural spirits reasserted themselves. Her blazing vitality was like a magnet; wherever she was there was laughter.

  For Christmas her great-grandmother gave her a new dress. It was the first really grown-up dress she had ever possessed. It was made of rose-pink muslin, and the shade brought out the rich color in her cheeks and lips. It was cut in a fashionably high-waisted style, and the line only served to emphasize the fullness of her breasts and the slenderness of her waist and hips. There were musicians in attendance one evening, and dancing, and the older members of the schoolroom party were allowed to come down. Catriona wore her hair up and her new dress.

  It was a very informal party, and the high spirits of the younger generation soon infected the entire gathering. Catriona danced with all the boys and then with many of their fathers. Someone brought out some mistletoe and hung it up, and George caught Catriona, pulled her under it, and kissed her soundly. There were roars of approval, and Catriona, cheeks scarlet, eyes brilliant, looked around the room, laughing, and saw Edmund. He was not smiling. He met her eyes, and his own were cool and infinitely remote. It was as if someone had thrown a bowl of ice-water in her face.

  As the next dance started up, Catriona escaped out the door and walked to the stairs.

  “Where are you going?” a familiar voice asked behind her.

  Catriona stopped and slowly turned to look at him. “To bed,” she answered a little unsteadily.

  There was a moment’s pause, and then Edmund said, “Come along with me to the library.” Slowly she descended the stairs and accompanied him to the room that had been the scene of so many happy hours for them both.

  Edmund closed the door. Catriona went automatically to sit on the leather sofa, the place they had always sat, side by side, when he was teaching her. Edmund did not join her. He went instead to stand by the chimneypiece.

  “Why were you leaving?” he asked calmly.

  Catriona stared at her lap. “I don’t know,” she muttered.

  “Don’t be mulish, Catriona.” He was the only person who never called her Kate.

  “I was tired,” she said, still staring at her lap.

  “You don’t know what the word tired means,” he replied. There was a pause, and he asked again, “Why were you leaving?”

  She bit her lip. “Because of the way you looked at me,” she finally whispered. “As if—as if you hated me.” There were tears in her eyes, and she was afraid to raise them for fear they would spill over. She kept her eyes on her lap.

  There was a long silence, and then he came and sat down, not on the sofa but in a chair opposite. “I don’t hate you, you know that.” His voice sounded weary. “But I am concerned about you—about what others might say about you.”

  Surprise made her look up. “Say about me?” she echoed in puzzlement.

  “You are not a child any longer, Catriona,” he said sternly. “You are a young lady. And young ladies do not—romp about—as you do.”

  “But everyone here is my family!” she protested.

  “Not everyone. And even family can be disgusted by rowdy and hoydenish behavior.”

  Disgusted. He had said disgusted. “But everyone likes me, Edmund,” she said in great bewilderment and hurt. “No one is disgusted.”

  “They will be if you continue on the path you are traveling.” There was a little pulse beating in his right temple. “You should never allow a young man to kiss you like that,” he said.

  “But that was only George!”

  "I don’t care who it was.” There was a note of temper now in his voice. “You are being frightfully obtuse, Catriona, and you force me to tell you that the circumstances of your parentage make it necessary for you to conduct yourself with even greater discretion than most young girls.” Catriona did not answer, only sat
and stared at him out of wide, distressed eyes. “You don’t want people saying ‘Like mother like daughter,’ do you?” he concluded very grimly.

  It took a minute for his words to register, and when they did Catriona felt as if he had hit her across the face. She went very pale and stared once again at her lap. It was only a blur of pink before her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “I wouldn’t want that.”

  “Well, then, you must be more careful.” His voice, hitherto so harsh, took on the tenderness she had once been so familiar with. “I did not mean to spoil your party, Catriona. I am just concerned for you.”

  “Yes,” Catriona got out. “I know.” She stood up. “I think I’ll go to my room now.”

  He was frowning very slightly, but she didn’t notice; she wasn’t looking at him.

  After a minute he said, “Very well. Good night, my dear.”

  “Good night, Edmund.” And she fled.

  * * * *

  For the first time in her life Catriona began to reflect on the fact that she wasn’t quite the same as everyone else she knew. Her parents had not been married. Evidently, if Edmund had felt himself constrained to speak to her on the subject, it was a circumstance that made a difference. She could not forget his words: “Like mother like daughter.” Could it possibly be true that he thought she, Catriona, was—loose?

  She remembered how he had withdrawn from her when she had thrown herself into his arms when he came home from France. And tonight he had said she should not have allowed George to kiss her. But that hadn’t been her fault, she thought in righteous indignation. George had taken her by surprise.

  Then she remembered that she had let George kiss her once before. And Frank Winthrop too. Huddled in her bed, her head under the covers, she blushed. What would Edmund say if he knew that? He wouldn’t like it. She was quite sure of that now. It had all seemed quite harmless at the time, but Catriona had a sudden conviction that it was not harmless. It was not the sort of thing other young girls would do. Margaret, for instance, would never kiss Frank Winthrop. She would have known that instantly if she had thought about it. She had let Frank kiss her and—what seemed even worse to her now as she huddled in misery on her bed—she had enjoyed the kiss. She had enjoyed George’s kisses as well. She knew a terrible panicky sensation. Perhaps, she thought in cold terror, perhaps she was loose.