A Gentleman Says I Do

by Amelia Grey

  Iverson scoffed. “I’m not always the rake I’m rumored to be.”

  “I know.”

  “Good. We’ll go no further with this conversation. Tell me, what has you so gloomy?”

  “There’s more on our plate than gossip this morning. I have other news.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “I received word late last night that our ships have arrived from America.”

  “That’s not good news.”

  “No, but what are we to do? For now, the only space available to us is what we’ve been leasing from Sir Randolph all these months.”

  Iverson picked up his cup again and took a sip of the hot, dark brew. He thought about their options for a moment. “I’m sure we can leave the ships docked at the harbor for a short time. We’ll pay whatever fees are necessary to make that happen.”

  “There shouldn’t be a problem with that. We’re bound to hear from the duke soon.”

  “I’m sure,” Iverson said. “Our courier has had time to arrive at the duke’s estate and return.”

  “I should think we will hear from him within a day or two at the latest, and hopefully with a letter from the duke, giving us permission to lease space from him.”

  “There’s no reason not to, now that everything is settled between the duke and Brent.”

  “Agreed. Brent said the duke seemed quite happy with his marrying Lady Gabrielle. So I’m thinking all will be settled within a week. That way, we won’t have to move our equipment into Sir Randolph’s buildings and then move it again later.”

  “So no need to worry. All is going well.” Iverson picked up a buffet plate and extended it toward Matson.

  “I’m not staying this morning.”

  Matson’s mouth was narrow, and the corners of his eyes tightened again. Iverson knew that look. There was still something bothering his brother other than Iverson’s relationship with Catalina and the obvious problem with their ships. A shiver of uneasiness shot up his back. He put the plate back on the buffet.

  “No breakfast,” Iverson said calmly. “You have other plans?”

  Matson turned his attention out the window again, and Iverson’s unease turned into apprehension. “What’s wrong? Did all the ships come in? I mean, we didn’t lose any men at sea, did we?”

  “No, no, nothing like that,” Matson said quickly and faced him. “I didn’t mean to make you think that. All three ships are in, and from all accounts, everyone is safe.”

  Iverson’s muscles stiffened. “Then what’s wrong? It’s not like you to be melancholy.”

  “Damnation, I hope not,” Matson said with a half laugh.

  “Then out with what’s bothering you.”

  Matson let out a heavy breath as he pulled several sheets of folded newsprint from his coat pocket and extended them toward Iverson. “You are not going to like this, and I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but here it is.”

  “I can believe that,” he said cautiously. Iverson tensed but took the pages. He didn’t bother to look at them. His fear was that someone had seen Catalina at Madame Shipwith’s brothel, and her name would be slandered all over the pages. “I seldom like anything I read in newsprint. If it’s more gossip or scandalous intrigue about Catalina, I don’t care to read the rubbish.”

  “It’s not the scandal sheets, and it’s not about Miss Crisp, but in a way, it concerns her. Open it and look at the title. That will tell you more than you want to know.”

  Iverson opened the pages, and his gaze immediately fell on the words A Tale of Three Gentlemen Part II.

  Disbelief clouded Iverson’s vision and cloaked his heart protectively. It simply couldn’t be. His mouth went dry with shock, but he managed to look up at Matson and whisper gravely, “Part II?”

  Matson laughed ruefully. “Oh, yes, Brother. There is more to Sir Phillip’s outrageous story, telling about how the twins go about their merry way living their lives in London. All the while, Polite Society is whispering behind their backs and they are oblivious to the fact they are the spitting image of a man who is not their father. At the end of this, White’s has decided to have a drawing to see who gets to enlighten the Villory twins about their resemblance to their real father, Sir Mortimer.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Iverson murmured, his mind running wild with thoughts of Catalina.

  Did she know about this? Did she know there was more?

  “Believe it, Brother. It’s all there in black and white. And there’s more. At the end of the piece it says to watch for Part III coming in tomorrow’s edition.”

  “Part III? How many damned parts are there?”

  “That’s all, according to the article. There is no telling what the man came up with to end the story, but you can be sure we won’t like it.”

  The sound of pounding drums roared through Iverson’s ears, blazed through his chest, and curled and knotted in his stomach. He looked up at Matson and said, “She knew this was coming out, didn’t she?”

  “I assume you’re talking about Miss Crisp.”

  “You know I am,” Iverson muttered from between clenched teeth. “She had to have known there was more, and yet she never told me.”

  “Of course she knew,” Matson said, anger lacing his voice. “But you really expected her to tell you there were two more parts?”

  “Yes,” Iverson whispered earnestly, the feeling of betrayal sinking deep into his bones.

  “That’s only because you are enchanted by her. Her father wrote it, and you told her you would do him harm if he wrote more. Did you really think she would confide in you after that? Can you imagine the amount of money the man must be making off this rubbish?”

  Money?

  If the man was making a lot of money, he wasn’t giving it to Catalina for new clothing or for their day-to-day living expenses.

  Iverson’s breaths were deep, ragged. Somehow he held onto his temper, because he knew Matson was right. Catalina had no obligation to tell him anything, but it was almost incomprehensible to him that she hadn’t. She knew how angry he had been over her father’s writings about his family. There were times he’d felt she was hiding something from him, and now he knew what it was. Two more parts to her father’s vile parody had already been written.

  But how could she have been so sweet, so eager, and so willing in his arms last night, knowing she kept such a damning secret from him?

  He shook his head and chuckled bitterly at how she had fooled him with her sweetness, but it felt more like betrayal. He winced inside when he remembered her innocent kisses and how right it felt being with her.

  Matson let out a deep sigh. “Iverson, perhaps just as I needed to accept the fact we are Sir Randolph’s sons, it’s time for you to accept this parody was written and published, and nothing can be done about it. Let the rest of the story come out tomorrow so everyone can have their amusement. In time it will be forgotten, and then we can finally be done with it. It’s time for you to let this go.”

  “Why? So the blackguard can write more parodies about us anytime he wants to? Or what if some other poet decides to pick up where Sir Phillip left off? Is that what you want? Do you want the question of our parentage constantly on the minds of Londoners?”

  “You know I don’t. I want everyone to let us forget we look like Sir Randolph and let us build our lives right here in London as we planned.” Matson stepped closer to Iverson. “But I wasn’t thinking about Sir Phillip just now or any other poet. I was thinking about his daughter.”

  “Catalina?”

  “So you are familiar enough now to call her Catalina?”

  Iverson swallowed hard. He hadn’t even realized he’d said her Christian name.

  “Yes, I see how conflicted you are,” Matson continued. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Iverson, and I know there is something there. I saw—”

  “Nothing,” Iverson ground out tightly, cutting off Matson’s words.

  “Don’t tell me—”

  Iverson raised
his hand to stop Matson. “You saw nothing, Brother.”

  Matson stepped back. “All right, if that’s what you want me to believe, I will humor you and agree I saw nothing. But I still say it’s time for us, it’s time for you to let go of this vendetta against Miss Crisp’s father.”

  “I’m not letting go until I find Sir Phillip and squeeze from his skinny throat his vow to never write about my family again.”

  Iverson threw the newsprint down on top of the table and walked out of the dining room, calling for Wallace to see if his curricle was ready. Iverson wasn’t waiting until a respectable hour to go to Catalina’s house. He was going to pay a call on her as soon as he could get there, and he wouldn’t be taking her flowers or asking if she would like a ride in the park.

  Now he knew what she and her aunt were doing at The Daily Herald that day. Delivering Part II and III of A Tale of Three Gentlemen. His stomach wrenched just thinking about it.

  After last night, he believed they could develop a relationship different from the antagonistic one they had started with. Damnation! He had wanted to court her properly. She was forthright, clever, and captivating. He enjoyed matching wits with her. He enjoyed being in her company. He enjoyed her being in his arms, and oh, how delicious she had felt beneath him. He wanted to teach her all the ways a man could love a woman.

  But now he knew he couldn’t trust her.

  She must have been laughing at how she had managed to dupe him. She certainly had the last laugh.

  This time.

  Iverson was already pulling his hat and coat off the hall stand in the corner of the vestibule when Matson and Wallace caught up with him.

  “Will you at least come down to the docks with me first and greet the men?” Matson asked. “Let’s look over our ships before you go off in such a heated temper. It’s much too early to call on anyone, and it will give you the chance to cool down and quite possibly save you apologies later.”

  “The only apologies I’m going to hear will be coming from Miss Crisp. There will be none coming from me this day, I assure you. I trust you to handle whatever needs to be done with getting the proper documents, fees, and bribes handled for the ships.”

  Matson shook his head. “I can’t persuade you not to go see her until you’ve calmed down, can I?”

  Iverson placed his hat on his head and said, “No. I can’t calm down until I see her. This has nothing to do with you, and it really has nothing to do with her father right now. This”—he laid his fist over his heart—“this is between me and the lovely Catalina.”

  ***

  Catalina hadn’t slept well, yet she was up early. She had told Sylvia to wake her aunt, too. As soon as it was an appropriate hour, she wanted to be on her way to see Iverson. She wouldn’t feel at ease until she’d told him about the remaining parts of A Tale of Three Gentlemen and could be done with it. He may not forgive her for not telling him sooner, but she had to do it now. While she waited for her aunt to come below stairs, she decided to have a cup of tea and look over the newsprint in the drawing room.

  She made herself comfortable in a chair by the window and read Lord Truefitt’s gossip sheet. Since Iverson had danced with Miss Babs Whitehouse, she was curious to see if there would be something written about the two of them in his column today.

  “Dreadful,” she whispered to herself as she read the trite “roses are red, violets are blue” words. She was surprised he chose to write about her again, too, until she made it all the way down to the bottom. With so many people at the Great Hall last night, how in heaven’s name did that man or anyone else know she and Iverson had left the party early? The man must continually walk around parties and spy on people. And to imply they might have left in order to meet up later for a tryst was definitely beyond the pale.

  “Lord Truefitt could use a few lessons in the art of writing poetry,” she murmured to herself.

  She closed the newsprint. Oh, she hoped Agatha and Mable didn’t decide to show up at her door today! Maybe she and Auntie would spend the entire day out, just so there would be no possibility she’d have to see the two young ladies.

  Catalina opened another section of The Daily Herald, and her breath caught in her throat. Her mind was screaming “no,” but no sound came from her open mouth. She blinked several times, but her eyes were not deceiving her. The newsprint fluttered from her hands, fell to her lap, and then slid silently to the floor.

  She was too late.

  She had waited too long.

  The story had been printed.

  Why hadn’t she told Iverson last night? No, why hadn’t she told him that very first day he’d come to her house? She could have accepted all his anger at one time and gotten it over with. What had made her think she could find her father and get the story back before it was published? She knew time was fleeing, and still she waited. When her father hadn’t come home after his usual week’s stay, she should have told Iverson. But she had wanted to save Iverson the pain and save herself the admission.

  This was her fault. Her fault.

  She looked at the clock. It was half past nine. Perhaps she could get to Iverson’s house before he read the newsprint. Maybe there was still time for her to tell him.

  Catalina jumped from the chair and ran to the bottom of the stairs and called, “Auntie, I need you. Bring your bonnet and wrap and don’t dawdle, please. Come quickly! We must go now.”

  With shaking hands and a dull ache in her chest, Catalina grabbed the bonnet her maid had laid out for her and quickly fitted it on her head. Her fingers trembled as she tied the ribbon under her chin. She then swung her lightweight cape over her shoulders and fashioned the satin strings into a bow.

  “Auntie!” she called again.

  She picked up her gloves and started to pull the first one on when she heard three loud raps against the door knocker.

  Her hands stilled. Her breath lodged heavily, tightly in her throat. She was too late again. He was here.

  Her first clear thought was to run and hide in her room, so she wouldn’t have to face him. But she quickly shook off that cowardly idea. There was nothing to do but face him. She had to. She wanted to.

  “Catalina, what’s wrong?” her aunt said, coming down the stairs dressed in her night robe but with a wrap and bonnet in her hand. “I’ve not finished dressing yet.”

  “It’s all right, Auntie. Nothing’s wrong. You go back to your room and finish dressing.”

  “Must I continue to hurry?” she asked in a concerned voice.

  “No, take your time.” She gave her aunt a shaky smile. “All is well.”

  “Good.”

  Her aunt headed back up the stairs, and Catalina saw Mrs. Wardyworth lumbering down the corridor.

  “I’ll take care of the door, Mrs. Wardyworth. Go back to whatever you were doing.”

  “Thank ye, missy.”

  The housekeeper turned away as the door knocker was rapped again. Catalina took in a deep, steadying breath and opened the door. She was fully prepared for Iverson to look even angrier than he’d been when he saw her last night at Madame Shipwith’s. But it wasn’t anger she saw in his handsome face. She saw calm disbelief, and suddenly her heart felt as if it were breaking.

  They stood staring into each other’s eyes. He seemed to be weighing what he wanted to say.

  He took off his hat and asked, “Were you going somewhere?”

  She remembered she had on her bonnet and cape, with her gloves still in her hands. “Yes,” she admitted quietly. “I was, but I don’t need to do that now. You’re here.” She laid her gloves on a table. “Would you rather talk in the drawing room, the garden, or perhaps you don’t want to come into my house at all and will remain in the doorway?”

  He stepped into the vestibule and closed the door behind him. “Here is fine. You know why I’m here.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. She had such strong feelings for him deep in her soul. Looking into his questioning gaze, she fear
ed she’d lost any chance of his ever wanting to be a part of her life.

  Keeping his distance, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  She sensed the pain inside him and winced, knowing she had caused it and not knowing how to make it go away. “Will any explanation I give satisfy you?”

  “Probably not.”

  She devoured him with her eyes, knowing this would probably be the last time he would be this close to her. “Then why should I try?”

  “Perhaps because I deserve some kind of answer, even if you can’t come up with the truth.”

  His hurtful words and the disappointment she heard in his voice stung like a thousand needles. She took an imploring step toward him. “Of course you deserve the truth, but will you believe it when you hear it?”

  “I can’t promise that.”

  His voice was low and husky. Suddenly she felt as if she was suffocating, and her breathing became shallow. She untied the ribbon of her cape and calmly laid it on the table. She then took off her bonnet and placed it on top of the cape.

  Her breaths were still rapid and shallow, but she set her gaze on Iverson’s face and said, “I didn’t tell you because I had hopes of sparing you the anguish of knowing there was more to come. I thought I could get the rest of the story back from Mr. Frederick before it was published. You made me realize how callous it was of my father to poke fun at your family. I went to The Daily Herald the day after you first came to my house. I insisted, and then I begged Mr. Frederick to return the story to me, but he wouldn’t and demanded he talk to my father.”

  “So you didn’t turn in the rest of it that day?”

  She shook her head. “No. No, I never would have turned it in after I talked to you. It had been delivered earlier in the week. I didn’t worry overly much at first, because it was time for my father to return. I knew I could convince him to get the story back from Mr. Frederick. But the days continued to pass, and Papa didn’t return. I knew time was running short, but then I had reason to believe he was at The Cooked Goose Inn, so I went there, hoping to find him and bring him back home.” Catalina took another step toward him. “That’s why I followed you to Madame Shipwith’s. I knew if I could just find Papa, he could get the story back. Iverson, after last night, the way I was feeling when we—”