The approaching train drowned out whatever else Meghan would have said, effectively halting their discussion.
Some twenty minutes later the three women sat in the first class section, Olivia and Meghan’s two chaperones occupied seats two rows behind.
Catherine had come to a decision, which required a change of plans. She quietly laid out the new plan to her friends and this, they unanimously agreed, was absolutely the best one yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You’ve been lazing about the place for days now. What on earth is wrong with you?”
This was becoming an irritating habit.
Lucas looked up from his desk and turned to observe his brother standing in the doorway of his study. As usual, his brother appeared to be on his way out, locks of dark-blond hair hung down on his forehead. He was attired in riding clothes, which meant he was off to Rotten Row in Hyde Park with his beloved.
“I would hardly call this lazing about,” Lucas said, dropping his gaze to the papers he’d been staring sightlessly at the past ten minutes. “I am working. I thought that was obvious.”
Patrick entered the room, his shadow falling over the desk, but Lucas did not look up.
“From your appearance, I take it you have a riding engagement with Miss Shipley,” Lucas said.
“You haven’t been out of this house—barely out of this study—since your little trip to the country. Are you finally going to tell me why you returned early from the house party? Has it anything to do with Miss Rutherford?”
Lucas scowled at that. Why did his brother always tie his dark moods to Catherine? Was he so transparent? “You fail to remember, I still have a company to run,” he said, looking up into his brother’s accessing gaze.
“Franks is managing it now. And quite proficiently I might add,” Patrick said dropping into the chair in front of the mahogany desk.
“For your information, I’m looking into purchasing a textile mill in Manchester. I think it’s time I diversified my holdings.” This was in fact the truth. If he would be living in England a great portion of the year, he’d require something to do with his days. Managing his business on this side of the pond would not be a full-time endeavor. And he was a man accustomed to work.
By the small smile that tipped the corner of Patrick’s mouth, Lucas could see the news didn’t surprise his brother in the least. “So you intend to set down roots in England?” Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow in question.
Lucas gave a negligent shrug. “It is a possibility. Should our sisters find husbands here, I wouldn’t be adverse to the idea.” He deliberately made no mention of Catherine.
“And I may remain here as well,” Patrick announced.
Now this was a surprise. Lucas hadn’t thought his brother would opt for England over America. “Is that to mean Miss Shipley is opposed to moving to America?”
Patrick nodded, his expression that of resignation. “Her father has hinted that I might take over the management of his estates.”
That made sense, since his brother had attended Columbia University in New York and had a gift for numbers. That was something he’d certainly do well at.
“Is that something you wish to do?” Lucas wanted nothing else than to see his siblings happy. Charting a course that ended in their unhappiness was the one thing he’d do anything in his power to avoid.
“At the risk of sounding like a hopeless romantic, I love her. If that is what it will take to make her happy and agree to be my wife, I will do it. I’d much rather be with her here in England than without her in America.”
Lucas cleared his throat. The last time his brother had been so besotted over a woman had been six years ago. Impassioned. But he’d been just nineteen and it hadn’t been love it’d been lust. “Yes, you do sound like a hopeless romantic. Next I’m sure, you’ll be reciting Shakespeare,” Lucas said in jest while fully understanding his sentiments. Was that not the reason he himself was in England? For the love of a woman?
Patrick’s only response was to smile contentedly.
“If you are to meet up with Miss Shipley, then you best not be late.”
His brother shot a glance at the clock on the mantel of the fireplace. “Indeed, you are right. And the Brits are stickler for punctuality.” He rose from the chair and headed toward the door. His brother didn’t want to do anything to diminish him in his future father-in-law’s eyes.
Just before he exited, he turned to Lucas and asked, “You really need to get out of this house. Why don’t you join me and Shipley at White’s this evening?”
“No.” Lucas was still not in any mood to socialize, his thoughts filled with Catherine and everything that had occurred between them, everything he had learned about her.
“You’re doing yourself no good sitting around pining,” Patrick pointed out, watching Lucas as if daring him to deny that that was what he’d been doing.
But that wasn’t precisely right. He hadn’t been pining so much as he’d stewed—at least the first two days he’d been back. And then yes, he’d pined, wanting her, wishing his reaction hadn’t been quite as severe as it’d been. There needed to be honesty and trust in order for things to work between them.
He’d gone over his conversation with Charlotte a dozen times in his mind. Catherine had had doubts but now so too did he. He still loved her, that had never been in doubt but would his love be enough to overcome the obstacles they faced? He wasn’t a particularly religious man, but he did believe in God and prayer and his prayer was that he receive a sign—something—that might guide him, show him the right thing to do.
In the meanwhile, perhaps it would be good for him to get out of the house. Although, he couldn’t abide Shipley. Miss Shipley’s older brother and heir to a viscountcy, was three years his brother’s senior. Lucas found him to be a brash and reckless man who drank too much and he didn’t like the influence he had over his brother. It was a damn shame as he was going to be their brother-in-law before long.
More reason for him to accompany them tonight. He would also make sure his brother didn’t get into any trouble or gamble away the house his father had left to him in Essex County or his allowance.
Lucas gave a sharp nod. “Granville’s a member. I’ll send a message and ask him if he’d like to join us.” It would be nice to see a familiar face and be able to converse with a man he could tolerate.
Patrick appeared surprised by his acceptance. “And here I thought I would have to twist your arm to get you to agree,” he said with a chuckle.
“Well it will be just the club. Whatever other activities you have planned for the evening, do count me out. I’m in no mood for dancing and whatnot.”
Patrick guffawed, his head thrown back. It took several seconds before he quieted down enough to say, “I thought you were always in a mood for—” he cleared his throat in a facetious manner “—whatnot.”
A reluctant smile pulled at Lucas’s lips. “I believe you’re confusing me with yourself. And these days, I’m much more particular with whom I indulge in those sorts of activities.” And he could think of no other woman than Catherine with whom he’d indulge in those sorts of activities.
His brother feigned a look of affront. “As am I. I’m nearly a married man and I have eyes for one woman and one woman only.”
Lucas hoped it would remain that way.
“It appears your brother is having a good night. He’ll take Croft for every shilling he has, the man doesn’t know when to cut his losses,” Granville said, twirling the glass of rum in his hand before taking a drink.
“My brother possesses more luck than skill and when he imbibes, he tends to forget that important fact,” Lucas replied, eyeing his sibling from across White’s.
He and Granville had a table on the main floor with an unobstructed view of Patrick, who was playing cards with Lord Shipley and two other men.
“Then he’d be better off trying his hand at the hazard tables,” Granville remarked, tipping his chin toward
the two hazard tables close by. “Fortunes have been won and lost there. Should his luck hold, he may go home tonight with a nice piece of property in Derbyshire.”
“Do you gamble?” Lucas asked.
“I only wager when I’m confident of the outcome. In other words, very rarely.” The earl smiled ruefully.
“Which makes you a very smart man.” Lucas had always thought he worked too hard to earn the wealth he had amassed to wager it on the turn of a dice or draw of a card. Money was easier lost than earned and that’s a lesson he learned from his mother—the one thing of value she’d taught him, even if it hadn’t been by design.
The right corner of the earl’s mouth came up. “I do not like to be at the mercy of others. These days, too many of my peers have had to take up fortune hunting as a profession. They turn up their noses at trade yet have no problem prostituting themselves for coin.”
“I wholeheartedly agree,” Lucas said nodding, surprised at Granville’s sentiments. “But I thought you aristocrats had no problem with that sort of thing.”
Granville’s mouth tightened, his disapproval evident. “Many do not. But I’m not about using women to get my hands on their fortune. My sister has a dowry of fifty thousand pounds and as you’ve seen she’s a great beauty. My father and I have been dealing with fortune hunters since she came out.”
“Here, here. We share similar challenges.” Lucas raised his glass to the earl’s in solidarity. The glasses clinked and they downed the rest of its contents.
“I’ll wager you ten pounds he can’t do it again,” shouted a man at his brother’s table.
“Twenty pounds I can,” Patrick laughingly replied.
Lucas directed his gaze toward his brother. The second he saw the broad smile on Patrick’s face, he knew it was time to curb his brother’s exploits for the evening.
“If you’ll excuse me a minute. I must stop my brother before he gambles away his allowance. Rising from his chair, Lucas made his way to Patrick’s table.
“Lucas,” Patrick called out on his approach and grabbed a small stack of paper notes from the table and held them up in his hand. “My skills are to go untested this evening.”
“So it appears,” Lucas replied, dryly.
“Luke, this is Lord Marcus Westlake and Lord Henry Croft. Gentlemen meet my older brother Lucas Beaumont.” Patrick performed the greetings with a grandiosity more suited to a formal event and not a friendly game of cards. The only man at the table who appeared to be guarding his sobriety was Lord Westlake.
“My lords.” He greeted them with a shallow bow.
“Westlake is going to be a duke one day so we must practice addressing him as Your Grace,” Lord Croft said snorting in laughter, his eyes rheumy from drink.
“Yes, but what’s the title worth without the coin? Sorry old chap, but I’d rather a viscountcy and thirty thousand a year than a dukedom that comes with nothing but debt,” Shipley responded and appeared to enjoy the dig.
A look of irritation flashed crossed Westlake’s face. Ignoring their comments, he straightened in his chair, placed his cards face down on the table, and regarded Lucas steadily. “Mr. Beaumont, I didn’t think I would have the privilege of an introduction.”
Lucas could only wonder what sorts of tall tales his brother had been spreading about him. “I wasn’t aware I was in such demand,” he replied lightly.
“Your sister Caroline speaks of you with great affection,” Lord Westlake replied, his voice lacking inflection, his countenance pleasantly expressionless.
Caroline and not Miss Fairchild, Lucas noted. He studied the man more closely now. He estimated Westlake to be in his mid-thirties and from what Lucas could tell of him, he was tall and fit. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, he was too pretty to be called handsome but his features were too masculine to be considered pretty. The man had looks in spades and no doubt, not a day went by when he wasn’t expressly made aware of that fact.
Unfortunately, he was just the sort of man that would turn his sister’s young head. And duke or not, the man was too old, too good-looking and—from what he’d just heard—too poor for his sister.
“My sister is too kind. But then, I am a great many years older than her. She tends to look up to me almost as a father.” Lucas hoped his meaning was clear.
A ghost of a smile crossed Westlake’s visage. “Indeed, I do understand that.”
Lucas smiled. Message delivered, received, and acknowledged. Now the man best heed it.
“Would you and Granville care to join us in a game of six card loo?” Lord Shipley was all joviality and high-spirits fostered by drink.
“Perhaps another time. Patrick, if I may have a word?”
His brother regarded him quizzically, which told Lucas he wasn’t that far gone. Certainly not as drunk as his two cohorts.
He quickly excused himself, laughingly advising the viscount to guard his winnings and followed Lucas to a spot that would offer a little more privacy.
“Are you not escorting Miss Shipley to the theatre this evening?”
“Yes,” Patrick said, drawing out the word.
“Then perhaps it’s best you stop drinking now.”
“I’ve had only two,” his brother protested, a scowl beginning to form on his face. “Look, I’m perfectly fine. Don’t you think I’m a little too old to need minding?”
The last thing Lucas wanted was to get into an argument with him. He didn’t want a repeat of the year Patrick had stopped speaking to him. But he knew his brother and knew how too much alcohol affected him. Although it hadn’t been a common occurrence, it had happened.
“Just remember, you are not in America and these aristocrats can be a peculiar lot,” he replied, hoping his brother wouldn’t take his warning as a criticism but the brotherly concern that it was.
Patrick’s scowl cleared as he let out a low laugh and slapped Lucas twice between his shoulder blades. “Hell, you’d think I was ignorant of that. Our mother is one of them or have you forgotten?”
Lucas suppressed a snort of derision. Their mother may be one by birth but she could hardly be held up as an example.
“Then I will leave you to it.”
“Mr. Beaumont.”
The men both turned at the server’s voice and observed his approach. His livery resembled a footman’s except he was clad entirely in black.
“A message for you,” the server said, handing Lucas a letter. “The messenger is awaiting a response.”
Lucas automatically accepted it. His first thought went to his sisters. Had something happened, or perhaps there was a problem with their mother? He broke the seal, unfolded the paper, and quickly read the brief message written in his valet’s hand. He then folded it back up and tucked it in his inside jacket pocket.
“Please tell him I’ll be there shortly.”
The server nodded and strode off.
“What was that about?” Patrick asked.
“A matter that requires my attention. Don’t worry, it’s nothing that need concern you,” Lucas assured him. “I shall see you in the morning.”
Before his brother could say anything else, Lucas strode back over to where Granville stood by their table, talking to a gentleman. He made his excuses and took his leave, anxious to return home.
“My apologies, sir, but I didn’t know what else to do. The woman insisted she wait until you returned.”
Lucas shrugged out of his jacket and handed it and his hat to his valet. Edwards had been apologizing since the minute he’d returned to his townhouse.
“No, you handled the matter exactly as you should,” Lucas said, dismissing the apology. “Where is she?”
Edwards blinked, trepidation in his eyes. “In the drawing room, sir. I didn’t think—”
“No, Edwards, that is fine. I will take things from here. You may retire now. I won’t need you for the rest of the evening.”
His valet nodded and retreated down the hall.
Lucas took a deep breath before he opene
d the door to the drawing room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Catherine tensed when she heard the low murmur of male voices in the hall. She exhaled deeply.
Lucas had finally returned.
It felt like an eternity elapsed between the time the door handle turned, the door opened and Lucas entered. The moment their eyes met, Catherine felt the connection, her belly doing a slow turn.
How could only mere days have passed since she last saw him and she hadn’t prepared her senses for the impact of him, his presence.
Dressed in somber taupe, he was anything but. Broad shoulders were encased by a wool jacket and taupe trousers skimmed the long, muscled length of his legs. His hair looked wind ruffled and as though he’d been running his hands through it. She wanted to run her hands through it herself.
He didn’t remove his gaze from hers as he closed and locked the door. His carefully blank expression gave way to something primal. The transformation was so sudden and shocking, it literally stuttered her next breath in her throat.
He started toward her, heat in his eyes. Silence filled the room with an unbearable tension. Slowly, he perused her up and down as if he could not get enough of her. Thank God, his attraction for her was still there, which meant there was still hope for them.
“I hope my calling hasn’t inconvenienced you too much,” she said softly, feeling unsure of herself—of the situation. “What I need to say must be done in person, and I fear I couldn’t wait until the morning. I’d rather we sit, if you do not mind?” She cast a nervous glance at the brown leather sofa.
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