Winning Miss Winthrop

by Carolyn Miller

  “Now it is your turn,” Lavinia motioned to the piano stool.

  “No, no. I cannot do justice. Besides it has been too long since I played at home.”

  “It will be even longer if you don’t take the opportunity now. And who knows when you will be asked to perform?”

  “And who will be asking? We hardly have a surfeit of opportunities being offered.”

  “What about at Mr. Carlew’s?” Lavinia smiled mischievously.

  “What about it?”

  “There might be cause for performing there one day.”

  “Not by me,” Catherine said firmly. “Besides, Julia tells me there are any number of young ladies in attendance at the moment. My absence will not be noted.”

  She thought she’d managed to sound noncommittal, but Lavinia’s tilted head and assessing eyes gave her pause.

  “Well, how about we try a duet?” Lavinia pulled down a music sheet from atop the gleaming grand piano. “This is not especially difficult, so you should be able to pick it up quickly.”

  “Your faith in my ability is appreciated,” Catherine murmured.

  “Silly! I know you take less pleasure in music than I, but some social niceties are worth maintaining, even if we find them unpleasant.”

  Catherine nodded, and allowed Lavinia to guide her through the piece. An hour later, after many false starts and much laughter, she had perfected her part to such a degree that when the earl visited, she was able to play her part creditably well.

  “Bravo, ladies.”

  Catherine curtsied, and he escorted his wife to a seat.

  “I think you played that quite as well as Julia did last week.”

  Julia had visited? Her heart twisted. But wasn’t Catherine supposed to be Lavinia’s friend? She followed Lavinia to the settee, swallowing the feelings of envy and rejection, forcing her brittle smile to stay in place.

  “Julia seems a nice, sweet girl.”

  “Although perhaps a little diffident,” Catherine ventured, before adding quickly, “I quite like her.”

  “I’m glad,” Lavinia said. “She strikes me as someone who could do with a friend, especially with her mother and brother so busy.”

  “I understand she has quite a few friends visiting at the moment.”

  “At the moment, perhaps, but when they are gone, she would do well to keep company with someone of good sense and character.”

  Was that a hint? “She invited Mama and me to dinner the other day.”

  “And you went? Oh, I’m so glad for—”

  “We did not.”

  “Oh.”

  “Part of me wanted to go, but Mama felt it would be wrong. She might complain about not being invited, but she believes our mourning means we should remain quietly at home.” Catherine offered a ghost of a smile. “Heaven forbid my reputation be sullied.”

  “Indeed!” Lavinia chuckled.

  “And I confess, visiting with such a group of strangers does seem a little intimidating.”

  Lavinia shot the earl a quick look. “I wonder … do you think Lady Winthrop would consent to Catherine attending a dinner here? Just a quiet dinner, among friends—and perhaps some new acquaintances.”

  “Lavinia, my dear—”

  “Nicholas, Catherine needs to have the chance to socialize. And how often is there such a group of young people nearby? Just think of the eligible young men!”

  “I’d rather not,” he said drily.

  A giggle pushed past Catherine’s misgivings. “Lavinia, I cannot ask you to do such a thing.”

  “You are not asking. I am offering, which is entirely different.” She turned to her husband. “Nicholas, you know how dull things can be. And I’d like to make the most of our time before coming events make such parties impossible.”

  He sighed. “I suppose you would want my attendance, too.”

  “Of course! Someone has to talk to the gentlemen.”

  He turned to Catherine, a half smile on his face. “Miss Winthrop, I hope you know I hold you fully responsible for this.”

  She blinked. What was the correct response? “I … um …”

  “Don’t tease her, Nicholas. Now, Catherine, you may be assured that we will send an invitation soon. Please do not worry. I’ll word things in such a way your mother will be quite unable to refuse.”

  Catherine blinked back the moisture lining her eyes. How grateful she was to have such a friend! “I … I don’t know what to say.”

  “That’s easy. Say you will come. Now, I best consult with Mrs. Florrick and Giles to make sure all can be arranged.”

  Catherine made her departure, loaded with their good wishes and some fresh peaches from the earl’s glasshouse. She left Hampton Hall, riding along the back way, having refused the earl’s offer of his groom’s escort.

  “Th-thank you, sir, but it is not far.”

  “Such independence leads me to suspect my wife’s influence at work here.”

  “I would hope to be as valiant as she.”

  He smiled, and that giddy sensation had gripped her insides as it did any time a handsome man smiled in her direction. Lucky Lavinia, indeed.

  She nudged Ginger into a canter along the back lanes. The mare flew, as though glad to be released from the usual sedate pace propriety dictated. Her spirits lifted, and for a moment she almost touched happiness, expectation of pleasant things in her future lending wings to hope.

  They came to a closed gate. Catherine looked around, saw no one to cast judgment, then urged Ginger over. Laughter escaped. “Good girl.”

  She glanced up. On the crest of the hill she saw a lone rider. From this distance she could not recognize him, save that his horse was big.

  Ginger stumbled, jerking Catherine forward.

  “What’s the matter, girl?”

  The horse began limping. She tried to gauge the distance they had come. Surely they had to be closer to the Dower House than Hampton Hall. “Come, girl. We’re not too far from home.”

  Home. The word soured in her mouth. The cottage could never truly be home, not like Winthrop Manor would always be.

  Ginger tossed her head, whinnying in discomfort. Catherine sighed. Carefully descended. She would need to walk back now; she could not remount without assistance. Why hadn’t she accepted the earl’s offer of his groom?

  She picked up Ginger’s front right hoof. The shoe had come loose, and she very much doubted Frank’s ability—let alone willingness—to attend to such a matter. “Wonderful.” She released the hoof and gathered the reins. “I suppose we both get to walk home now.”

  They had not gone more than twenty yards when she noticed a group of horse riders descending from the rise toward her. Why, why hadn’t she accepted the earl’s offer? She studied the horses, their riders. “Oh, no.”

  Surely that could be none but the new Lord Winthrop’s house party.

  She had nowhere to turn, nowhere to hide. She gritted her teeth as one by one they approached, slowed, and stopped, eyeing her—or her old black habit—askance.

  “Ah, Miss Winthrop,” came a silky voice. “We did not expect to see you here.”

  Catherine glanced up at Lady Harkness, dressed in a most becoming dark blue habit cut in the military style. “Good afternoon, ma’am.”

  She stilled as peripheral vision ascertained the tall figure of Mr. Carlew dismount. She would not look at him. She would not!

  The older woman completed a round of introductions, Catherine blind to all but the extreme youth and prettiness of Julia’s friends. She muttered a “how do you do” as Julia nudged her horse closer. “Have you stopped to pick flowers? This part of the country seems filled with them.”

  “I … er, no, that is—”

  “It appears the horse has thrown a shoe,” said a dark-haired man who had joined Mr. Carlew on the ground.

  “Have you far to go?” asked one of the pretty girls, whose name she’d already forgotten.

  “N-no.” From the edge of her eye she noticed Mr.
Carlew pick up Ginger’s foreleg. “Please, I do not mean to hold you up.”

  “I, for one, am happy for a rest,” said Julia. “Jonathan likes to believe we are all as good equestrians as he.”

  “He is an excellent horseman,” said Lady Harkness smoothly, green eyes watchful under her scarf-swathed hat. “Would you not agree, Miss Beauchamp?”

  The prettiest of the young ladies murmured acquiescence, her look of open admiration at Mr. Carlew stabbing pain through Catherine’s heart.

  The other riders eyed Catherine dismissively before nudging their animals away. She was conscious of her somber black garb, the curious stares, the lack of sympathy from all but Julia.

  “She should not be ridden.”

  Mr. Carlew’s deep voice and conclusion she’d already reached drew heat from within. “Of c-course not. Which is why I am walking her home.”

  He glanced at her then, his eyes unreadable, not quite touching hers, his mouth one hard flat line.

  Shame filled her at her outburst. “I am s-sor—”

  “Carmichael, help me unsaddle Gulliver.”

  The dark man murmured, “You’re not going to let her ride him, are you?”

  “I’m not going to let a lady return home on foot.”

  “But Gulliver is a great brute.”

  “Miss Winthrop is a good rider.”

  So he had been the rider on the ridge who’d witnessed her jump earlier. Despite the sunshine, she shivered.

  “You can manage him, can’t you?” His eyes still didn’t quite meet hers.

  “Y-yes.” She inwardly winced. Did he realize she now stuttered because of him, her confidence gone when he’d left? Oh, that she could assume such confidence now.

  “How do you know this, Jonathan?”

  He ignored his mother’s question as he strapped Catherine’s sidesaddle around the stallion. Before she knew it, his strong hands were around her waist, hoisting her into the saddle.

  Breath caught, his touch the first since that unfortunate evening so long ago. “Th-thank you, Mr. Carlew,” she murmured.

  He nodded, still refusing to meet her eyes. He turned to Julia and Lord Carmichael. “Would you be so kind as to escort Miss Winthrop home? Julia will show you the way.”

  “Certainly.”

  He turned to her, his gaze settling somewhere past her left shoulder. “Shall I take Ginger to Winthrop to be reshod or would you prefer to have her home?”

  He knew the name of her horse? She swallowed her surprise and thought through his offer. As much as she hated the obligation involved with his seeing to her horse at Winthrop, the alternative would mean him coming to the cottage, and Mama potentially seeing him, and having to listen to renewed moaning about her loss of status—

  “Miss Winthrop?”

  Could his voice be any colder? “I am m-much obliged if you would see to it at Winthrop, sir.” She murmured her thanks once more, but he seemed to ignore her.

  She pressed her lips together to control the quiver, working to control Gulliver’s restless manner. Gulliver—so much bigger, so much higher than poor Ginger—bent his head then shied, trying to toss her off. Heart racing, she ignored the gasps of the onlookers and spoke quietly, experiencing a profound sense of satisfaction as she stayed upright. A glance at Mr. Carlew saw him give a barely discernible nod before he looked away again. He had not expected her to fall; that much was certain.

  Ten minutes later, she was back at the cottage, the ride on Gulliver one of the most exhilarating experienced in years. “Th-thank you, sir, for your assistance,” she murmured as Lord Carmichael helped her down.

  “No trouble at all. I must confess to a mite of envy. Carlew doesn’t let just anyone ride that beast. Although I must say you seem to know your way around a horse.”

  “Thank you.”

  The dryness of her tone seemed to catch him by surprise as he chuckled, his smile widening. “Well, I best deal with this.” He swiftly removed her saddle, depositing it on the hitching rail. Frank was—unsurprisingly—nowhere to be seen. “Now, I daresay Carlew will return your nag once she is seen to properly. However, if you’d prefer to collect her, then I’m more than happy to pass on that message.”

  “I …” Again indecision struck, as the benefits of one course of action were weighed against the disadvantages of the other. She had no wish to see him with his guests at Winthrop; neither did she wish him to visit here, thus risking her mother’s displeasure. What to do, what to do …

  Julia glanced between them, her brow knotted. “Perhaps we could visit tomorrow and return Ginger then.”

  A burst of gratitude filled her. “Thank you, Miss Carlew. That would be very kind.”

  “Good day to you.”

  “G-good day.” Catherine nodded as Lord Carmichael swiftly remounted, he and Julia raising hands in farewell, leading Gulliver as they rode away.

  Leaving her alone, feeling the bite of humiliation, while much, much deeper, a secret, twisted part of her wished she could blithely spend the afternoon riding with Mr. Carlew, too.

  He was tired by the time he’d finally tramped home. After days of rain and clouded skies and unseasonably cool temperatures, the sun had certainly sung today, and now a fine layer of perspiration lined his shirt.

  He handed Ginger off to the surprised grooms. “I expect Gulliver will return with Lord Carmichael shortly. If you can attend to the mare’s shoe, I’d be much obliged.”

  “Of course, my lord.”

  He trudged up the hill to the Manor, glad the others had already entered and he did not need to wear his smiling host mask. Disappointment curled within. She still refused to meet his gaze. How long—?

  “Jonathan, dear, when you have a moment?”

  He nodded to his mother. Gestured to his mud-spattered clothes. “I’ll be with you presently.”

  Jon walked up the stairs slowly, not keen to hurry to this interview, sure his mother would only continue her speculation that his unwitting remarks about Miss Winthrop’s horsemanship had evoked. He’d endured enough on the way home, between her comments and Hale’s.

  “She does not call you Winthrop,” Hale had observed.

  “She is not the only one.” Neither did Carmichael.

  “I suppose such things take time to adjust to.”

  “Yes.” And doubtless she would still reserve that appellation for her father.

  “Hmm. She seems quite a modest, mouselike little thing.”

  He’d nodded. Too modest in looks to garner Hale’s attention. Why that instilled relief, he did not care to examine.

  “A mouse but with a tiger’s growl,” his mother had said. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Jon. You heard her before, almost biting off your head when you were only trying to help.”

  “Ungrateful, I call it,” murmured one of Julia’s friends.

  “Ginger is her horse,” he’d said mildly.

  And he could understand a person not wanting to feel yet more obligation to someone they had no wish to further connections with.

  “Perhaps she objects to high-handedness.”

  “Or simply your mode of delivery.”

  “Perhaps.” He’d managed a smile without humor. Regret at her fixed aversion gnawed at him, and yet …

  Jon placed a hand on the windowpane and stared at the knot garden below.

  And yet …

  He’d heard the soft inhale of breath when he’d lifted her onto his horse. Felt her stiffen beneath his touch. Felt the moment take on significance beyond the seconds she was in his arms.

  Was he mistaken in thinking it a sign that she also felt the tug of latent attraction?

  CHAPTER EİGHT

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON saw Ginger’s return, accompanied by Major Hale, Lord Carmichael, and Miss Carlew. Catherine’s hastily offered invitation to tea was declined by the gentlemen, who expressed a desire to ride into St. Hampton Heath. Miss Carlew accepted happily, their conversation proceeding nicely until Catherine noticed her guest eyeing the
invitation from Lavinia for the following evening’s dinner party.

  “Did you receive one, too? Lavinia said she hoped your guests would be amenable.”

  “You are going?” Miss Carlew’s brow creased, as if confused.

  “Lavinia has been my closest friend for years.”

  Her forehead cleared. “Oh. Well, I should like to be friends with a countess. Imagine getting to wear a coronet, and attending all those royal functions.”

  “From what Lavinia has told me she does not enjoy those functions overly. As for wearing the coronet, she has not attended many such ceremonies this year, due to her upcoming confinement.” A swift prayer arose that all would be well with this babe, and Lavinia would finally have the child she longed for.

  “Of course.” Julia bit her bottom lip.

  “Miss Carlew?”

  “Julia, please.”

  “Very well, Julia. Forgive me, but is something the matter?”

  “I … I’m sorry you do not want to attend dinner with us.”

  Perhaps honesty was best. “Julia, please understand, Mama has only agreed to my acceptance because of our longstanding relationship with Lavinia. A quiet evening meal with old friends is quite a different matter to an evening with people one scarcely knows. After all, it is not the done thing to attend functions when one is in mourning.”

  “So Jonathan tells Mama and me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “He has asked us to not keep pestering you and your mama with invitations to dinner.”

  Oh. Her heart twisted. Of course he did not want her around. He did not want her at all.

  “I believe he thinks it might only add to the strain you must be feeling, seeing your former home, and all.”

  She swallowed. Prayed for her voice to remain steady. “He is all solicitude.”

  “Yes, he’s quite sensitive that way.”

  Catherine glanced away, unable to meet her guest’s innocent blue eyes.

  “Miss Winthrop? Are you quite well?”

  “Thank you, Julia, I am.”

  “Then we shall see you at the dinner tomorrow night?”