No matter how much she might think she admired him, it could only be puppy love. He had to be the sensible one, though he had to admit that he didn’t feel very sensible at that moment. It took every ounce of his self-control not to go and find her and tell her how he felt.
The age difference and her vulnerability wasn’t the only reason. The life he lived, as the Captain, was a dangerous one. It also meant a lot of time travelling that, as a single man, he might be able to explain away to outsiders, but would find much harder to explain to a wife waiting at home for him. It might also put her in peril if anyone ever found out the truth about him. The thought of her being used to get at him was horrifying.
The more he thought about it, the more insurmountable the problem of Catherine and his feelings for her seemed. There were too many reasons not to tell her he loved her, fighting against his heart which told him that reasons didn’t matter as long as she didn’t marry someone else.
“Xander, for goodness sake,” said Phoebe. “You are absent-minded tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, turning the page, and realizing that everyone had been waiting for him.
“I’ve rather a lot on my mind.”
“Fairy stories, I suppose,” Phoebe hissed as she played. She smiled at the assembled guests before muttering under her breath. “The sooner you get these little girls off your hands, the better. Fatherhood doesn’t suit you.”
At that harsh reminder of the age difference that had been worrying him, Xander flicked the page over again, knowing full well that Phoebe hadn’t yet reached that point in the music, and was not talented enough to remember what the rest should be.
Later that night, Catherine sought the solace of her own bedroom, having claimed a headache, glad to be away from the party downstairs. She’d been lying in bed for about half an hour when Alyssa came into the room, dressed in her nightgown, and climbed in beside her. It was something she often did last thing at night, so they could chat about the day.
“Wasn’t it a wonderful party, Cat?” Alyssa snuggled down next to her.
“Yes, it was, darling. You had lots of admirers.”
“Mrs. Somerson didn’t like that one bit. I think she and Mr. Oakley have had a row.”
“Really?”
“Yes. He barely spoke to her after you left, and then he and Mr. Harrington went off somewhere on their horses.”
“I wonder why, when he has guests in the house.”
“I don’t know. He received a note or something. But Mrs. Somerson is not happy about it. Have you seen her maid?”
“No.”
“Our maid Jenny says Mrs. Somerson’s maid is half-French, her name is Celine, and that she’s stuck up and always listening at doors.”
“Darling you shouldn’t listen to servant’s gossip.”
“Why not, it’s the best sort there is. But what if Mrs. Somerson’s maid is a spy?”
“I hardly think so. What would she learn here? There are no battles being planned in this house.”
“Well, no, but what about around the king and The Prince of Wales?”
“I gather from what I hear that he doesn’t much bother himself with the war. He only cares about his parties and lady friends.”
“Mr. Harrington said that it’s not quite true. The Prince of Wales is far more intelligent than people give him credit for, but His Majesty doesn’t trust the prince enough to share affairs of state with him. Mr. Harrington said…” Alyssa went on in that vein for quite some time, and Catherine couldn’t fail to notice quite how much ‘Mr. Harrington said’.
“You like him, don’t you?” she asked eventually, when Alyssa had stopped to draw breath.
“Mr. Harrington, I mean.”
“He’s been very kind to me, and helped me to learn how I should behave in society. And it doesn’t hurt to have one handsome man admiring me, does it? It’ll give all the others something to think about.” Alyssa was silent for a while. “It’s not as if I’m falling in love with him, Cat. I know what I have to do to help the family.”
“Oh darling…” Catherine felt the tears she’d been fighting back all day start to fall. Despite Alyssa’s protestations, it was clear that she was falling very much in love with Mr. Harrington. It was what she’d feared would happen. Alyssa was so young and impressionable, and had been shut away with her dreams at Willoughby Manor for so long, it was obvious that the first handsome man who told her she was beautiful would become her first great love.
“And poor people aren’t happy. Mr. Harrington told me that. He said there’s a lot of poverty in London and that he and Mr. Oakley try to help as best they can but he says it’s a bottomless pit. No matter how much money Mr. Oakley gives, it’s never enough. So when I marry a rich man and become a great lady, I shall be able to help people. It will make me feel better about having things and not so bad about not being with someone I love.” Alyssa’s voice trembled a little. “See, I’m not such a selfish person, am I?”
“No, you’re not. You’re an angel. I think perhaps I have been mistaken in bringing us here.”
“You? How can you say that, Catherine? If not for you we’d have starved. If you hadn’t…”
Catherine put her hand out and covered Alyssa’s mouth. “Careful, dearest, there may be a French maid listening.”
Although Catherine said it as a joke, she was sure she heard someone moving outside the bedroom door. Telling herself she was only imagining things, she nevertheless started to talk in a deliberately loud voice about the party and the clothes everyone had been wearing.
Chapter Four
Catherine must have dozed, because the next thing she knew, she was awoken by the sound of whispering outside her open window. Her bedroom was at the back of the house, above the kitchens. She crept out of bed carefully, so as not to wake Alyssa, who had decided not to go back to her own room because she wanted to talk a little more. She looked out to see two men, one of whom seemed to be supporting the other.
“Wait a moment, Xander, whilst I open the door,” she heard Mr. Harrington’s voice say. It was then she realized that the stricken man was Mr. Oakley. Gasping in horror, and without thinking what she was doing, Catherine threw on her dressing gown and almost flew down the back staircase, reaching the back door just as Mr. Harrington helped Mr. Oakley through it.
“Miss Willoughby,” said Mr. Oakley, “go back to bed this instance.” His face was pale, and she saw a patch of blood spreading over his white shirt.
She ignored him, and went to his other side, to help Mr. Harrington, who led them to a small room at the back of the house which had a single bed, and what appeared to be a medicine chest. Almost as if it was ready for this very purpose. “What happened?” she said. “Who has hurt you?”
“A duel,” said Mr. Oakley, as they helped him onto the bed. His breathing was labored.
“Now go back to bed.”
Mr. Harrington lit a candle, casting more light into the room.
“No, I want to help. I sometimes helped Jimmy when…” she paused.
“You can speak in front of Andrew. He knows about Jimmy’s association with the Captain.”
“Yes, when he helped the Captain. A few times he came back injured and I nursed him. Why were you fighting a duel?”
“Some young fool made an offensive comment about Mrs. Somerson,” said Mr. Oakley, appearing to choose his words carefully. “So, of course I had to defend her honour.”
“Of course,” said Catherine, her heart dropping. “Who was it? All the young men here tonight seemed very polite.”
“Anyone of them can turn when he’s had too much wine,” said Mr. Harrington. Catherine noticed that neither of them answered her question. She opened the medicine chest and took out some bandages and a bottle of medicinal alcohol.
“Let me see,” she said. Forgetting for a moment who she was dealing with she pulled up Mr. Oakley’s shirt, to see that he had a deep cut in his side. Mr. Harrington then helped him remove the shirt c
ompletely, so that it didn’t get in the way. “You were sword fencing?”
“Yes. I’m very impressed you can tell a sword wound when you see one.”
“I’ve told you. I used to help Jimmy a lot. I thought the usual way to duel was with pistols.”
“It’s up to the duelists which weapons they use. Ouch.” Oakley winced as Catherine cleaned the wound with the alcohol.
“Don’t be such a baby,” she admonished. “If you can’t stand pain, you shouldn’t be fighting duels.” She concentrated on making sure there was no dirt in the wound. “I think I may have to put some sutures in this.”
“You can do that?”
“Jimmy taught me.”
“He obviously relied on you a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Most women would be fainting about now,” said Mr. Harrington with a note of admiration in his voice.
“I’m not the swooning kind,” said Catherine, smiling.
“That much is certain,” said Mr. Oakley. “Dear Lord, woman, do you have to be so brutal?”
Catherine had started putting the first suture in without warning him. “I always found it best not to warn Jimmy when I was about to start. He’d make such a fuss about it otherwise.” She did wonder if she’d been a bit too rough with Mr. Oakley. She just couldn’t get it out of her mind that he could have died, defending Phoebe Somerson’s honour. He was not an old man, but he was definitely too mature to be involving himself in stupid duels. She wondered how someone who had been so brave in the war, and was clearly an intelligent man, had lowered himself to such childish antics.
“You’re disappointed in me,” he said with the perception that always unnerved her. Mr. Harrington had left the room to find some wine, though Catherine suspected he was rather squeamish. Suddenly alone with Mr. Oakley, she became more aware of the fact that he was naked from the waist up. His torso was that of a sportsman, lean and hard, without an ounce of spare fat. She made a point of looking only at the wound. To see the rest of his torso was far too disturbing.
“I’m sure it’s none of my business,” she said, as she inserted the next suture.
“Damn it, Catherine, your prodding with that needle suggests otherwise. Could you try and be a little kinder?” He took a deep breath. “I apologise, Miss Willoughby. I shouldn’t swear like that in front of you.”
“You should have heard the things Jimmy used to say,” she said, with a smile. “Believe me when I say that I am unshockable.”
“Really? Be careful, Miss Willoughby, another less honourable men might see that statement, coming from someone with such innocent lips, as a challenge.”
“And would you fight a duel for me if he did?” The moment she said it, she wished she hadn’t. It was asking for something to which she had no right.
“I’d kill him long before we reached the dueling ground.”
She looked at him, startled by his savage tone, and for a moment was lost in his deep blue eyes.
“I thought you said you were unshockable,” he said in a husky voice.
“What happened to the other man?” she asked, turning her head, afraid that if she looked at him any longer, he would know how she felt about him. “He’s not dead is he?”
There was only a momentary pause before he said, “No, he’s quite well.”
“So you lost the duel?”
“Make up your mind, Miss Willoughby,” he said, grinning. “You’re either disappointed with me for fighting the duel, or disappointed with me for losing. You can’t have it both ways.”
“I’m just glad you only lost the duel and not your life. Especially for such a trivial reason.”
“You don’t think Mrs. Somerson’s honour worth fighting for?”
“It seems to me that if a woman has to call on a man to defend her honour, she must have behaved in a way that brought it into question.”
“No wonder Jimmy called you Cat. Those claws are quite sharp, aren’t they? Well, I’m glad. It shows you’re not as different to other women as I thought you were.”
She ignored him, but had the grace to feel ashamed of her cattiness. She hoped that he wouldn’t realize it was down to her jealousy of Mrs. Somerson. “You should be alright now,” she said, as she finished bandaging his wound. “I’ll leave you and Mr. Harrington to your wine.” As she spoke, the man in question returned to the room with the wine and three glasses.
“Are you sure you won’t join us, Miss Willoughby?” said Mr. Oakley in rather more tender terms. “You look pale and as if you’re about to fall down.”
“I’ve told you, I’m not the swooning kind.” She wished she was not the crying kind, because at that moment she was struggling hard with the emotions he evoked in her. The idea that he could have died filled her with horror. Not because it would leave her and Alyssa without a benefactor, but because to lose him would be a pain she could not bear.
“I’ve been ungrateful,” he said gently. “Especially after you’ve done such a good job of patching me up. Thank you.”
Catherine said goodnight and curtseyed to both men.
“Catherine…” She’d reached the door when he spoke her name.
“What is it?”
“I’d rather none of our guests knew about this.”
“I shan’t say anything to anyone.”
“Well, you’d be a rare woman indeed if you kept it completely to yourself.”
“I think,” she said, “that despite all the time you’ve spent amongst women in society, Mr. Oakley, you don’t really know us at all.”
Catherine went back to her room, and after she had changed out of her bloodstained nightdress, had to shift Alyssa across the bed.
“Where have you been, Cat?”
“I went downstairs to get a drink, dearest. Go back to sleep.”
***
The following morning at the breakfast table, Catherine half expected the talk to be of the duel. She felt sure that Mr. Oakley would tell Mr. Somerson how he had defended her honour, and that the lady would want everyone to know. Instead the talk was about the miraculous escape from France of one of Mr. Oakley’s friends.
“I heard from my valet, who heard from a friend who’s come up from London this morning. Bertie Carter managed to get across the channel, but it seems some of the blighters followed him over, and tried to attack him at a coaching inn,” one of the young men was saying in excited tones. “Luckily the Captain turned up and saw them off. But imagine, Frenchies on British soil. They must have wanted Carter back badly.”
“That’s probably because his father is in the government,” Oakley suggested. “They see the sons of noblemen and diplomats as perfect bargaining tools.”
“I’ve heard that Bertie might have had some secret information,” said the young man.
“I hardly think Bertie Carter is capable of such a mission,” said Mr. Oakley.
“I don’t know. They say he’s friends with the Captain.”
“Thank God for The Captain,” said Mrs. Somerson. “They say he’s very dashing and handsome. Oh, you mustn’t get jealous, Xander.” Mr. Oakley had shown no signs of being so. “You know how I feel about you.”
“Yes, but they say he was hurt,” said the young man. Most of the table were more interested in the story of Bertie Carter’s escape than Mrs. Somerson’s declarations of love. “One of the Frenchies stuck the Captain with his sword.”
“Do we have to have such bloodthirsty discussions at the breakfast table?” said Mr. Oakley.
“It’s enough to put a man’s mind off his eggs.” As he spoke, Catherine tried to catch his eye, but he pointedly turned away from her to talk to Mrs. Somerson.
She put her hands into her lap, to hide the fact that they were trembling uncontrollably.
Things that she’d seen and heard out of context now took on new meaning. She remembered Mr. Harrington saying that Mr. Oakley had been ‘busted down to Captain’ for insubordination. How could she have been so stupid not to recognise that Jimmy’
s adoration for Mr. Oakley was much the same as his adoration for the Captain? It wasn’t a matter of Mr. Oakley and the Captain as separate entities in her brother’s life.
Imitation of Love Page 4
