A Gentleman Says I Do

by Amelia Grey

  “Auntie, please.”

  “Well, it’s true. But I’ll tell him about that another time. My brother doesn’t usually stay away very long. How long has he been gone now, Catalina? About a week?”

  “Yes, Auntie, that’s right. I’ll see Mr. Brentwood out and then be back to help you to your room.”

  “Oh, yes, I remember now. He’ll return most any day now. But you are more than welcome to come back and visit with our Catalina anytime.” She paused and smiled at Mr. Brentwood. “Just let me know, and I’ll arrange it.”

  “Yes, madam.”

  “This way, Mr. Brentwood,” Catalina said softly, and started for the door.

  Catalina would have given anything for Mr. Brentwood not to have seen her aunt in such an unfavorable light. Mrs. Wardyworth must have alerted her aunt to the fact there was a man in the house. Thankfully, even the times when Auntie dipped too deeply into the wine, she was still always in a good and playful humor, like today.

  As soon as they were out of the drawing room and in the corridor, Mr. Brentwood touched Catalina’s arm. That same thrilling sensation as before spiraled through her. He must have felt it, too, for he slowly lowered his hand and took a step away.

  His expression was the softest she’d seen since he arrived. Gone were the anger, the distrust, and suspicion, and in their place, understanding had taken root. She was grateful.

  “I know where my hat and coat are, and I know the way out, if you want to go back to your aunt.”

  “Yes, thank you, that will be fine,” she said, realizing she really didn’t know what to say to excuse her aunt’s outlandish behavior.

  Catalina turned away but spun back to face him when she heard him say, “Miss Crisp?”

  Their eyes met and held, and somehow she knew he was not appalled by Aunt Elle and she had no reason to be embarrassed. And suddenly, she liked Mr. Brentwood even more than before.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “It was indeed a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Brentwood,” she said and turned quickly and headed back to the drawing room.

  Catalina stood just inside the doorway, holding her breath until she heard the front door close behind him. She exhaled a deep sigh of relief and leaned against a chair. She didn’t think she had ever been that stimulated in her life. How could a man be so refreshing, so invigorating, and such a challenge all at the same time?

  “But he’s gone now, and I’ll probably never see him again,” she whispered.

  “What did you say?”

  Catalina looked over at her aunt. She was lying against the arm of the settee with her handkerchief covering her face.

  “Only that I think the next time Mr. Brentwood seeks my father, he will look for him at a club or on the street. Not that it matters to us, Auntie, but I don’t think he will be coming back here.”

  “That would be such a shame. He’s a very handsome man. And I disagree with you. I think he will be back.”

  Catalina smiled to herself. If her aunt knew just how handsome Catalina thought the man was, she’d have them married before noon tomorrow. “Come, Auntie. Let me help you back to your room.”

  “No, no, dearest, I’m going stay here and gather my wits together and have dinner with you tonight. Would you like that?”

  “Very much. You know I hate eating alone. But are you sure you’re up to it?”

  Aunt Elle took the handkerchief off her face and rose up on her elbows. “I will be by the time Nancy has dinner ready. Did I make a complete fool of myself in front of your nice young man?”

  Yes.

  “No, no, Auntie,” Catalina said with compassion, refusing to feel guilt or shame for the prevarication. She sat down beside her aunt. “And I told you he is not my young man.”

  “Oh, yes, yes. You explained that.” She smiled knowingly, and her eyes sparkled with innocent mischief. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “Auntie, you shouldn’t drink so much sherry late in the afternoon.”

  “Port, dear, it was—” She hiccupped. “Port. You know that nice, young apothecary I’ve been seeing?”

  “I’ve not actually met him, Auntie.”

  “Well, there’s no need you should. He assured me a drink in the evening was good for me.” Aunt Elle’s eyes widened as if she’d just remembered something. “No, he told me a drink in the evening would be good for what ails me.”

  “Yes, one drink in the evening,” Catalina said, trying to keep her voice from sounding like a reprimand. “Not an entire bottle in the afternoon.”

  Her aunt smiled and patted Catalina’s cheek. “I wish I could still fool you the way I could when you were younger.”

  “So do I, Auntie, so do I,” Catalina said, feeling a little sad. During the past year, her aunt had come to rely too often on her tonics, elixirs, and spirits.

  They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Catalina thought about the man who had just left her house. When she’d first seen Mr. Brentwood standing in the vestibule, so confident and commanding, she knew immediately he could easily be the hero of all her dreams. There was a strange quickening in her lower stomach and a catch in her breath.

  He’d looked magnificent. Adonis in the flesh. Broad through the shoulders and chest, he’d worn a starched white shirt of fine lawn beneath a coat of the deepest shade of blue. His neckcloth was simple and tied into a casual bow. Thick brown hair was stylishly brushed away from his high brow and held in a queue at his nape with a strip of black, braided leather. His cheekbones were wide, high, and aristocratic. His face wasn’t classically handsome like her father’s, and he certainly didn’t have her father’s smooth charm and even temperament, but there was no denying Mr. Brentwood’s stirring appeal to her senses and to her intelligence.

  She remembered the solid, uncompromising look to the set of his chiseled jaw and chin, giving him an arrogant attractiveness only a man of power and prestige could achieve. When she’d looked at him, she had felt the stirrings that always came over her when she read her favorite William Shakespeare play, Romeo and Juliet. She had always dreamed about and wondered what it would be like to love someone with the deep intensity of those two lovers. She often wondered what this madness called love was all about.

  Catalina shook her head and laughed to herself. There were so many more important things to think about than that elusive emotion called love. Starting with the fact that she no longer had all the money The Daily Herald had paid her father for the story. She had to go to Mr. Frederick’s office and do something to keep those last two installments from being published. She would have to promise to pay them back as soon as possible—as soon as her father returned and decided to write again. Though right now, she had no idea when that would be. Her father had already been gone longer than usual. She had no choice but to believe Mr. Brentwood when he said he’d harm her father if more stories about his family were printed.

  She turned to her aunt and said, “I need your help.”

  Aunt Elle rose to a sitting position and put her hand to her head as if she was dizzy. “You just tell me what. You know I’ll do anything for you.”

  “I need to see Mr. Frederick at The Daily Herald first thing tomorrow morning. I don’t want to wait until afternoon. Can you rise and be ready to go with me by noon?”

  “Of course, dearest, of course. I’ll have my maid wake me so I’ll be ready before noon.”

  “Thank you, Auntie,” Catalina said, making a mental note to tell Sylvia herself. In her aunt’s current condition, Catalina couldn’t trust Aunt Elle to remember to tell her maid.

  Catalina rose. “Now, you lie back down for a little while. I’m going to take this tray to the kitchen and ask Nancy to make you some hot tea. How does that sound?”

  “Wonderful.”

  Aunt Elle sighed and covered her face once again with her handkerchief.

  Catalina picked up the tray and headed toward the kitchen, her thoughts drifting back to Mr. Brentwood. What an impressio
n he had made on her. He was so commanding, so confident, and so angered by what she and her father had written. It surprised her she wasn’t more offended by his harsh manner and tone. She understood his feelings. To him, his family had been wronged, and he was looking for revenge.

  But she couldn’t comprehend the reason she was so enamored of him. Just thinking about him made her breathless with unexpected pleasure. Of all the gentlemen she’d met at parties during the past year, not a one had mentioned poetry to her, even though her father was a poet. But Mr. Brentwood admitted to reading it. He even knew about Lord Byron’s slight against Keats. How many gentlemen would know so much about the men who filled their days with songs of the heart?

  It was no wonder Mr. Brentwood fascinated her.

  Catalina loved to read, and all her favorite stories, poetry, and plays were about love. She knew a hero when she saw one, and there were many things about Mr. Brentwood that reminded her of the hero of her dreams.

  She wondered if she would ever see the intriguing man again. And as much as she hated to admit it to herself, she knew for certain she wanted to see him again.

  Three

  Start by doing what’s necessary, then what’s possible, and suddenly you are doing the impossible.

  —St. Francis of Assisi

  Catalina felt restless.

  It was the sunniest day they’d had in weeks, and she wished she could close up her parasol and throw it down. Even though there was a cool breeze, she wanted to unbutton her pelisse, take off her bonnet, and let the sunshine drench her. She wanted its calming warmth, shining from a cloudless blue sky, to heat her back and shoulders as the carriage rolled along. But she couldn’t do that. Her aunt, not to mention anyone else who might see her, would be horrified to see a hatless young lady riding down the crowded streets of London.

  Aunt Elle was just as eager as Catalina for their first outing in the landau without the top since last autumn, and apparently all of London felt the same eagerness to enjoy some of the first sunbeams of spring. The roads were jammed with rigs, coaches, curricles, and high-perch phaetons, which made the ride to The Daily Herald building longer than usual. But Catalina didn’t mind. It gave her time to think.

  She had slept fitfully, knowing what was before her today. Mr. Frederick wasn’t an easy man to deal with on a good day, and she had no idea how he was going to react to what she had to ask him this morning. But if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that most of her fretfulness while she lay in the darkness of her bedchamber last night came from her thoughts of Mr. Iverson Brentwood, not the publisher of The Daily Herald.

  During her wakeful hours, she’d realized she’d had several firsts with Mr. Brentwood yesterday afternoon, starting with his being the first man she couldn’t get off her mind once he left her. He was also the first man to display anger toward her. Her father certainly never had. Sir Phillip Crisp was the gentlest, most kindhearted person she had ever known. He had a smile for everyone, and he laughed often. She had never seen him even mildly upset or in a bad temper with an untrained servant. Though he had certainly brought home several over the years who had tried Catalina’s patience more than once. Sir Phillip didn’t believe in lectures, reprimands, or criticisms, but many times she wished he’d been a little stricter with the staff, as well as in his own life.

  To abide by her father’s never-changing example, she had simply tried to hold on to her temper, take everything in stride, and to be kind and helpful to those he liked to deem less fortunate than the Crisps. However, when he was away, Catalina often fell short of her father’s high expectations on the way to live one’s life, as was reflected in her conversation with Mr. Brentwood late yesterday afternoon. The man had just made it impossible for her to hold her tongue as much as she would have liked.

  Mr. Brentwood was also the first man she’d met who didn’t seem to care a whit whether or not she found favor with him. That surprised her immensely. In fact, at times when she was talking with him yesterday, it was as if he wanted to make sure she didn’t approve of him. Most of the gentlemen she’d met at parties and balls during the past year were tripping over themselves to win her praise and approval so they could call on her. It was clear Mr. Brentwood had only one person on his mind yesterday—her father. And Catalina was certain if her father had been there, Mr. Brentwood wouldn’t have paid her the slightest heed. And for reasons she couldn’t begin to fathom, she had wanted Mr. Brentwood to notice her—as a woman.

  It was outrageous!

  The man clearly was not someone she could be interested in as a suitor. He was too brash, too commanding, and much too comfortable with himself. If she ever met a man she wanted to court her, he would be a gentleman who had a gentle, likable, and easygoing nature, like her father.

  Catalina reached up and touched her cheek and remembered another first for her. Mr. Brentwood was the first man, other than her father, to touch her cheek. It surprised her that his touch had been so tender, languorous, and curiously comforting, coming from so strong and forceful a man. Even now, the warmth from that touch seemed to seep into her soul, bury itself there, and make a home.

  Maybe it moved her so because it was not an ordinary touch. He had intended for it to be a very sensual caress. And it was.

  He had used the backs of his fingers to gently stroke her cheek, rather than his palm as her father always had whenever he’d affectionately patted the side of her face. And he had lightly raked his knuckles across her lips, too. Her stomach curled and tightened again just thinking about the way his forward touch made her feel. She had never had anyone be forward with her until Mr. Brentwood.

  “What is it, Catalina? You keep rubbing your cheek with the back of your hand. There’s nothing there I can see. Though you know my sight isn’t as good as it used to be.”

  Catalina jerked her hand down to her lap. “Oh, sorry, Auntie. No, nothing’s wrong. I was just deep in thought about what I must say to Mr. Frederick.”

  “Truly?” her aunt asked with a sparkle in her light green eyes. “By the look on your face, I would have thought you were dreaming about dancing with that handsome Mr. Brentwood who called on you yesterday.”

  Catalina hoped no telltale blush gave her away. She didn’t like getting caught thinking about that man. She looked at her aunt, thinking to tell her one more time that Mr. Brentwood was not there to see her, but instead, she simply smiled. How did the woman do it? She was a completely different person this morning from who she was last night. Her hair was perfectly coiffed beneath the wide-brimmed straw hat, and her light brown carriage dress and accessories were impeccable. Her speech was well bred, and her cheeks naturally rosy. Catalina always loved her aunt, but this was the one she adored.

  “The truth is, Auntie, that I didn’t sleep well last night and awakened with a pain in my neck and my stomach feeling like it has a ball of yarn rolling around in it.”

  “You should have told me,” Aunt Elle admonished. “I would have gone to my cabinet and chosen one of my tonics for you. A generous dose is what you need. You would have felt better in no time at all.”

  Catalina laughed. “I don’t ever want to taste any of your tonics again. You can keep them all for yourself.”

  “But I have a cure for almost anything that ails you.”

  “I know, and you can keep them. One sip all those years ago was enough for me. I’d rather be sick than take your medicine.”

  Catalina smiled and refrained from saying more. Aunt Elle had a bookcase in her room crammed from top to bottom with bottles filled with tonics, elixirs, and more concoctions than Catalina had a desire to know about.

  She owed the knot in her stomach to Mr. Brentwood, and probably the pain in her neck, too. Medicine couldn’t take away those kinds of feelings. Mr. Brentwood had put her in an untenable position. He had been very brave to come into her home and threaten her father. That was something no gentleman should ever do, even if he had just cause. She probably wouldn’t believe he was serious i
f it weren’t for the rumor that Mr. Iverson Brentwood had given Lord Waldo a black eye. For that reason alone, she had to take the man at his word that he would seek out her father and harm him if anything else were printed about the Brentwood family.

  Her aunt’s eyes softened, and she patted Catalina’s gloved hands. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well, dearest.”

  “I’m fine, Auntie. Really, I’m enjoying looking at all the people, elegant barouches, and post chaises we’re passing.”

  “That’s my young lady. Keep your chin up. Now, I know you told me last week you didn’t want to do this, but I truly need you to go with me to Lady Windham’s party. All the others this week we can skip, if you insist. Even though she has been my dear, dear friend for many years, she will feel I have snubbed her if I don’t put in an appearance at her home. You know how easily she gets her stays bent out of shape.”

  Eloisa Lucinda Gottfried spoke the truth. She never went to a party alone anymore, and Catalina didn’t want her to. She teased her aunt by asking, “Are you trying to say that because you have come with me today I should go with you to Lady Windham’s party?”

  “Heavens no!” Her aunt laughed. “I’d never say that, but if you take what I said that way, I suppose it’s all right.”

  Catalina laughed, too. “Of course I will go with you, Auntie.”

  “Good. You can wear one of the new gowns we had made for the Season.”

  The laughter died in Catalina’s throat, and her smile slowly faded. She hadn’t yet told her aunt that she didn’t have new gowns for the Season. By the time Catalina had paid for her aunt’s and her father’s new clothing, along with everything else, there simply wasn’t the money for her. Catalina didn’t mind. She had made do with buying lace and other trimmings. Her modiste had done a lovely job of remaking her old dresses to look new by using contrasting fabrics to make flounces, bows, and ruffles. Hopefully, only the most discerning eyes would know the gowns were last year’s.