Catherine had also come to that place in her own feelings, and now, whenever they met, their talk always inexorably turned to the reality of their situation; the truth that they could go no further than they had already gone.
“If we had the luxury of courting in the normal way, Thomas, then we would already be engaged and thinking of our life together,” Catherine had said to him only that morning as they sat on the fallen tree holding hands.
“I know,” he said mournfully, feeling what had become a customary sadness surround him like a cloak. “I think of it all the time.”
“It has made our meetings a little sad, Thomas.”
“But there is still good in it. There is still love, and I still suffer the same glorious excitement as I ride across Colney Beck, knowing I will be with you in minutes. I could not bear to lose you now, even if this is all we ever have.”
“Thomas, I am not leaving you. I would never, ever leave you.” Catherine had become a little tearful, although she was strong and did not allow the tears to fall. “Not willingly,” she finished, and he felt his heart sink.
“Has something happened?” He did not need to elaborate further.
They had often talked of how suddenly either one of them might be forced into matrimony with a spouse of their fathers’ choosing. At first, it had been a lighthearted thing; just something else the two excited young friends had in common.
But as their love had grown, it had become something to be feared. It was the spectre at the feast, ever present, however much one tried to ignore it.
“No, I have heard nothing of any plans of my father’s. But that is not to say he does not make them, for I am sure I would be the last person to hear of it. I have asked Philip from time to time, but I would not want him to grow suspicious of my perpetual questions.”
“Do you really think your father would leave it so long before telling you? I think he does not have any plan at all. At least we can hope for that much.”
“Yes, we can hope. But you must remember that the first I had heard of his intention to marry me away to Francis Mortimer was the morning he had decided to call it off. Before that, I had no knowledge whatsoever.” She had squeezed his hand and turned mournful eyes upon him. “It is not because my father seeks to keep things secret from me, Thomas; it is simply a fact that he thinks it none of my business in the first place. It is not as if he will ask for my opinion or give me the final say on any match he has planned. It is not even a consideration, and he would scoff at the idea of including me in such things.”
“I despise him,” Thomas said truthfully. “I despise them both.”
“Do not let their behaviour taint your soul, Thomas. You are too perfect, too wonderful for that.” Her hazel eyes fixed his, and he felt lost in them for a moment as if none of the rest of it were real somehow.
Her hair, free from the blue bonnet he liked so much, lifted in the breeze, its soft tendrils swaying gently around her face. He reached out to touch her smooth, creamy skin, and when she smiled at him with so much love, he pulled her to him and kissed her.
It was a simple kiss, nothing too passionate that might have frightened her or turned her away from him, but it was the most wonderful thing, nonetheless.
“You are the perfect one, my love,” he said when he drew away.
As he had ridden back the way he always went, Thomas had thought of nothing but the kiss. It really had been wonderful, and yet, at the same time, it seemed to fill him with such great sadness. It was like a beautiful reminder of everything they were denied; the life that could never be theirs.
With a sigh, Thomas stared into the flames of the fire. How glad he was that Pierce had been diverted on this occasion, but he knew he would have to be more and more careful. If Stromlyn Lake were all they could ever have, he would do nothing to see that taken away from them.
Chapter 6
“How wonderful to eat breakfast in peace,” Catherine said as she nibbled at a slice of bread and butter. “By which I mean how nice it is to be able to speak freely and as much as we want. I suppose ours is a sort of noisy peace, Philip.” She laughed, feeling every bit as carefree as she sounded.
“Barford Hall feels like a different place altogether when our father is absent, does it not?”
Philip smiled broadly. “Yes, it does. And the sun is already shining so well; it is as if it knows too.”
“We must make the most of this next week, Catherine. Heaven knows when our father will go away like this again.” He grimaced. “And for an awful while, I thought I would have to go with him. At least I have been spared that.”
“It looks as if we are both free, Philip. For the next few days at any rate.” Catherine set down her bread and butter and stared contentedly off at the patch of peeling green paint above the window. She was about to mention it to Philip when he spoke again.
“Yes, and that small taste of freedom is bittersweet, is it not? It is a reminder of what we do not have.”
“It is,” she said in something of a daze as she continued to stare at the paint. “I wonder if it is always a good thing to look at the life you might have if things were different. It makes us all the sadder.”
She knew, of course, that she was not talking about a few days clear of their father’s dreadful presence at Barford Hall.
She had thought of Thomas’ wonderful kiss every day since he had given it. It had been the most wonderfully loving moment of her life, something which took her breath away with excitement when she thought of it.
But that excitement was always replaced with the idea that he would never be her husband, that his kisses would one day be bestowed upon a woman of his father’s choosing.
When Philip talked of bittersweet, Catherine knew first-hand what he meant.
“I know that our father is away, but you must still be careful,” Philip said in a near whisper.
“Philip?” Catherine turned her attention away from the peeling paint and looked at him sharply.
She had the sudden, awful feeling that she had been discovered, even though his words could have meant anything at all. “What? What do you mean?” Her heart was pounding.
“Forgive me, Catherine, for I am not prying into your life for the sake of it. I am just urging you to be more cautious.”
“Cautious?” Catherine dared say nothing else, in case she gave herself away unnecessarily.
She knew now, of course, that Philip knew about Thomas. Or at least he suspected if he did not know for certain.
“Thomas Carlton,” he said simply.
“But how did you know?” she said and felt her cheeks flaming uncomfortably hot as tears rolled down them.
“Please, do not upset yourself, Catherine. I do not mean to give your secret away, nor do I seek to judge you for your choices.”
“But how did you find out?” Catherine felt a deep sense of panic; if Philip knew, who else did?
“I did not find out. I did not know it for certain until now. But I had suspected, and I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”
“What gave me away?”
“The Earl of Lysander’s ball last week,” Philip said and reached for her shaking hand. “It was just a look between you, nothing more. Nothing that anybody else would have seen. But it immediately made me think of how regular your walks have become, and how you are out of the house longer than used to be your custom.”
“And you put the whole thing together from that?” Catherine did not know if she was relieved or dismayed. Was Philip just very clever, or would it be obvious to others?
“And I know you, Catherine. I have seen a change in you of late. Happy at first, but I had come to think that you had something of a great burden you were carrying; a deep worry.”
“Yes, I do. I could never have foreseen how deep my feelings would grow.” He handed her a handkerchief, and she dabbed her eyes. “But I should have done. I should never have walked so blindly into heartbreak. I ought to have seen the consequences.”
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br /> “Are your feelings for him really so strong?” Philip looked at her in such a kindly manner that her eyes filled with tears again.
“He is such a fine young man, Philip. Really, he is nothing like our father would have him described.”
“Nobody is as our father would describe them.” Philip laughed, offering his sister a few moments’ respite from the trauma of discovery. “And I have always found Thomas Carlton to be polite.”
“You know him?” Catherine said brightly.
“No, we have never talked. But he has acknowledged me with a smile for as long as I can remember. Careful always, I am bound to say, that he is seen by neither our father or his own.”
“Yes, that was always my experience too.”
“But Pierce Carlton is another matter altogether.” Philip grimaced. “He is formed in the way of his father; our father also. He is exactly what one would expect him to be. No doubt he is exactly as our father wishes I would have been.”
“I am grateful that you are not, Philip. I would want you always to be the man you are, not your father’s son.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “We have always been friends, have we not?”
“Always. Nothing has broken us apart. Not Mama passing away so long ago, and not out father’s influence.” She paused and sighed thoughtfully. “And I hope not my choices either. I hope this will never come between us. I love him, you see.”
“This will not come between us, Catherine. I will never be your enemy. For heaven’s sake, our friendship is the longest that either one of us has had.” He broke off, and his emotion was clear.
“Thank you, Philip, for I do not know how I would walk through this world without you.”
“But you must be careful,” he said and cleared his throat to steady his voice.“If I have come to this conclusion, what is there to say that others will not?”
“That is my fear.”
“And what if father promises you to someone else? He is bound to do it sooner or later.”
“I know, and I cannot bear it. I would have to leave Thomas behind.” Catherine lowered her head. “I cannot even think of it. I shall never love any man but Thomas Carlton, and I would rather die than be promised to another.”
“Catherine, no, please do not say that.” Philip looked stricken. “I despise myself for making you so upset, but we cannot shy away from these things. They are real; they are coming.”
“I know.” She sobbed miserably. “At times, I wish I had never met Thomas. Nothing would have changed, and I would be looking at life in the same, resigned way I always have. But I would not go back, you see. I would rather have this tiny slice of my life lived in love. If it is all I am ever to have, then I shall have to make it enough.”
At that moment, one of the maids came into the room. Both Philip and Catherine started badly, and the maid mumbled an apology before she hastily curtseyed and fled from the room.
“Oh dear, I wonder what she thinks,” Catherine said. “And what she will be telling the rest of the servants when she returns below stairs.”
“That we are in some quarrel or other and that I have made you weep, I have no doubt.” Philip gave a mirthless laugh. “But it is something as simple as this which could expose you to the world, Catherine. A simple piece of gossip or the conjecture of others. That is all it takes. One person might hear a piece of gossip which suggests discord, but that might be a person who has already seen a look pass between the two of you at a ball. That is how these things get started.”
Catherine nodded mutely and thought of the Earl of Lysander’s ball. It had been such a large, lavish affair that there seemed to be almost too many people to pay her any heed whatsoever.
She had felt light and excited as she walked into the great ballroom with her father and brother, looking all around for any sign of Thomas.
Her father, she knew, would be less aggressive and awkward, even though the Duke of Shawcross was undoubtedly there. It was a large enough event that the two men need not even look upon each other, and so her father had relaxed a little from what he had been at Lord Vinton’s much smaller gathering.
Seeing that her father was not quite so vigilant had made her somewhat more confident. Perhaps she would even manage a few moments’ conversation with her love.
The Earl had fallen into an immediate conversation with three of his acquaintances, all of whom had hurried dutifully over the moment they saw him enter the ballroom. And Philip, a secretively beleaguered look on his face that only Catherine would recognize, dutifully stood at his father’s side and partook of the conversation.
Catherine was, as always, so easily forgotten that she thought she could have walked right over to Thomas and nobody would see a thing. Not that she would dream of such a thing, but her father’s dismissal of her was always so complete.
Thomas was standing some feet away from his own father and brother, engaged in conversation with a young man Catherine recognised but did not know. Thomas looked pleased to be in his company, instead of suffering his father who, by Thomas’ own accounts to her, seemed every bit as boorish and pig-headed as the Earl.
Catherine studied him secretly and contentedly. He was dressed formally in black breeches and finely cut tailcoat. He wore black knee boots, rather than the white stockings and shining black shoes his brother had chosen to wear, and Catherine thought the look a far more pleasing one. His waistcoat was a pale cream and fitted him to perfection.
In contrast with his brother once again, Thomas wore a white shirt with a simple necktie. Pierce, on the other hand, wore a shirt with such an elaborately fashioned necktie that she wondered how he would manage to eat anything all evening.
And that was the difference; Pierce always seemed to announce his status in some way or other. Thomas was simply a content and confident man who had no need of such devices. And that was why she loved him so much.
Catherine smiled absent-mindedly as she watched Thomas from across the room. It was one of those moments when she forgot all the troubles, the dreaded outcomes, and simply enjoyed being in love. She was a young woman in love with a handsome young man, and that was all there was to it.
When he looked away from his companion for a moment, it was clear that he spotted Catherine immediately. His face erupted into a smile that he could not control, and it was some moments before he came to his senses.
When he did, Thomas gave her the tiny, almost imperceptible nod he always gave her now when they were in public. That wonderful, secret acknowledgement that meant so much to her.
And that must have been it; the moment when her adoring brother had looked up from the dull company in which he found himself and saw his sister’s eyes locked on those of Thomas Carlton.
“Oh, Philip, whatever am I to do.” Catherine, brought back to the here and now by her own sadness, looked at her brother miserably.
“I wish I had some wise words for you, Catherine. I wish I had some plan by which you could be safe and happy for the rest of your life, and it will trouble me forever that I do not.”
“I love him so much. I cannot stop meeting with him, not yet.”
“I know. And perhaps that is all you can do for now. But you must be careful in future. You must not be so open in your admiration of Thomas, or you will give yourself away.”
“Yes, if our father saw …”
“He would not even notice, Catherine. He would never discover this by use of his own senses. He does not pay attention for long enough, or hard enough, to discern such a thing for himself. But he has his men, his little spies, the sycophants who hover around him and would seek to have you married to their own sons. They must be watched for, mistrusted at every level.”
“Yes, you are right.” Catherine was beginning to feel a little better.
It was true that nothing had been solved, but it was clear that Philip was not about to insist she abandon Thomas or her love for him.
“But you must remember what sort of a man our father is. He mi
ght not discover it for himself, but if he ever found it out, I fear for what he would do to you.” Philip paused, and Catherine shuddered. “You know how he behaves when he thinks he has been wronged in some way. If he found out about your regard for Thomas Carlton, he would see it as an absolute betrayal. His ego would be all that his heart would hear, and it would force him into something dreadful. And it would not be temporary, Catherine, for you know yourself how long he can carry a resentment, even the smallest of them.”
“Years,” Catherine said with a rueful smile.
“No, forever,” Philip said with certainty. “Think about it; when have you ever known our father to forgive anybody?”
“Never. I have never seen him relent in any matter,” Catherine said, her mouth going suddenly dry.
A Soulmate for the Heartbroken Duke: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 5
