Not an Ordinary Baronet
Page 18
“Uncle Bertie, Mama is crying.”
He looked up at her little face, which was screwed up in concern. “Did she hurt herself?”
“No, she is just looking out of the window.”
Consequently, he went to Marianne in the children’s playroom. She hastily wiped her eyes when she saw him.
“I was just missing Ian. It comes upon me sometimes.”
Bertie was mystified. He had an uncomfortable sense that she was not telling him the truth. Marianne was not easily given to tears.
* * *
The Marquess of Westbury and his daughter arrived in time for the noon meal at Heyford Abbey. As he watched her descend from the crested carriage, Bertie felt he hadn’t seen her in an age.
Lady Catherine was dressed in a carriage dress of amber velvet trimmed in brown. Her saucy little bonnet sported an orange feather, while her eyes sparkled as she approached him. She extended both gloved hands.
“Welcome to Heyford Abbey,” he said, taking those hands in his. He brought them both to his lips and kissed their knuckles. His heart soared at the sight and feel of her.
Turning to her father, he gave a bow. “My lord, thank you for accepting my invitation. I trust you will be comfortable.”
“I am certain I will be,” the marquess said. “This is a lovely property. I was at Oxford years ago and have always had a fondness for this part of the country. The Cotswolds have a charm all their own. The honey-colored stone reminds me of my college.”
Lady Catherine said, “How lovely the roses are! Fancy having a house with roses climbing up the front!”
“I am glad you like it, Lady Catherine. Come inside now. My sister is most anxious to see you. She has ordered a restorative luncheon. I hope you don’t mind, but the twins are to be present.”
“I am anxious to meet them,” said Lady Catherine.
The luncheon of vegetable broth, turbot, lamb cutlets, new potatoes, and fresh peas received praise from both the marquess and his daughter. Afterward, the children went outdoors to their fort, Marianne retired to write letters, and Bertie took his guests on a tour of Heyford Abbey.
“The house is not as old as the abbey,” he explained. “The great hall is original to the abbey, and the monks’ quarters were knocked together to create the dining and drawing rooms.”
He showed them the bedrooms they were to stay in on the second floor. Marianne had placed fresh flowers in their rooms. The beds were covered with quilted counterpanes that his sister had fashioned.
“How lovely,” said Lady Catherine. “I am afraid I am not at all handy with a needle. It is an art that has passed me by.”
“But you are a splendid gardener,” said her father. Turning to Bertie, he said, “She is very good with our rare orchids and a dab hand at roses.”
Lady Catherine laughed. “You sound like you are offering me up for sale,” she said.
Bertie relaxed at their banter. “There’s a view of the gardens from your windows. I claim no credit. Marianne is the gardener.”
It occurred to him for the first time that there might be difficulties with Marianne if he were to marry Lady Catherine. There couldn’t be two ladies in charge of the household. Was that what Marianne had been crying over? What a dunce he was not to have thought of that.
But she had Warrie’s estate awaiting her in the next county. It was far grander than his.
Oh well. Those were matters that needn’t concern him at this stage. Nevertheless, was it something that Lady Catherine would worry about?
Bertie was very proud of his library. Bookshelves lined the room, ascending all the way to the ceiling. A wheeled ladder reached the higher shelves. Then there were Ian’s artifacts, covering a shelf before the fireplace
“Ah, here are the famous artifacts. I shall enjoy inspecting them at my leisure.”
“You’re apt to find Warrie in here exploring. Likes to climb up and look at the old books on the top shelves—illuminated manuscripts dating back to the monks’ time.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Lady Catherine. “I should love to see them. And I am so happy to see that you collect poetry. You have a lovely selection here.” She pulled out a volume of Blake and paged through it. “You have actually read it, too. The pages are cut!”
“Of course I have read it,” he said, laughing. “Is that so strange?”
“Some might find it so,” she said, looking at him with a twinkle in her eye. “But I do not. Your facility with the written word is outstanding.”
The marquess was by far the most interested in Bertie’s conservatory. “It is pretty basic,” he said. “I got a lemon tree start last year, and as you can see, it is coming along. Marianne grows flowers here in the winter.”
“Father lives for his succession houses,” Lady Catherine said. “Tell him about your experiments, Father.”
As they strode into the afternoon sitting room, the marquess recounted his efforts to grow hardier wheat and his success with different grasses. Bertie was impressed by his diligence. He apparently did not take his aristocratic title too seriously. The man would probably have been happier as a farmer.
Marianne entered the sitting room during the discussion to tell him that one of his tenants had been injured in a plowing accident.
“Has the doctor been called?” Bertie asked.
“Yes. It was he who sent for you. I am sorry to bother you, but apparently it is rather serious.”
Concerned, Bertie stood. “Perhaps you will remain with our guests while I call on Mr. Timms.”
It transpired that the accident was serious, indeed. A surgeon was sent for; one of the tenant’s limbs needed to be amputated. Bertie spent the remainder of the afternoon with the Timms family, offering support to the wife and children while the grisly operation was performed in the kitchen.
When he returned to the house, it was time for dinner. Marianne had been waiting for him in the front parlor.
“How fares he?” she asked.
“He’ll live, if an inflammation does not carry him off.”
“I must go to Mrs. Timms,” she said, avoiding his eyes.
Something was amiss. Laying a hand on her arm, he inquired, “What is wrong, Marianne?”
“I am not the most sparkling of hostesses. I am afraid your guests have gone up to their rooms.”
For some reason he could not identify, Bertie felt a qualm. He said, “I am sure you were a lovely hostess. They have had a tiring journey. The marquess is not a young man.”
Her eyes flew to his. “Perhaps that is it,” she said. “I shall stop in the kitchen and make up a basket, then I shall be along to the Timms’. Do not hold dinner for me.”
Puzzled as to what could have transpired in the time he was gone, Bertie went up to his room to change for dinner.
The meal was a solemn one. Lady Catherine had lost her sparkle for some reason, and it was clear the marquess was indeed tired. Never an easy conversationalist, Bertie floundered about for a topic. He settled at last on Dorset.
“I was quite impressed with Dorset. I had never been there before Tony’s wedding at Christmas. You must enjoy your home there, Lady Catherine.”
“Yes,” she said. “When I am old and gray, I shall spend out my life there. Father has left Fortuneswell House to me.”
Bertie furrowed his brow. This did not sound like a lady who was hopeful of marriage. Her manner was distinctly different than when she had arrived.
When the marquess retired for the night, Bertie planned to get to the bottom of the matter.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Catherine felt as though a heavy weight were dragging her down. After arriving at Heyford Abbey in the highest of spirits, she was now miserable. She could never become mistress of this lovely property.
I must give up the man I love. But I cannot do it. I cannot!
After dinner, they sat in the ancient wood-paneled drawing room. She played the pianoforte while her father and Sir Bertie played piquet.
At la
st, the marquess went up to bed. Lady Deveridge was not yet home from the ailing tenant’s cottage, so Catherine was left alone with Sir Bertie.
“What is amiss, Lady Catherine? I am not blind. The light has gone from your eyes.”
She bowed her head. Was it so obvious?
“I guess I did not realize that I would be an interloper here.”
His mouth grew set, his brow creased with concern. Standing, he began to pace. “You are thinking of my sister. What passed between you?”
Catherine was no martyr. She must tell him. “She mentioned how kind you were to take her in after the death of her husband. That she and her children call this home now.”
His whole body stilled. Full of sorrow, she returned his gaze.
Suddenly, he was beside her on the sofa. Drawing her roughly into his arms, he kissed her with a heat that was completely unexpected. He possessed her lips as though he were a starving man devouring his first meal. Proceeding from there, he kissed her eyes, a spot on her neck just below her ear, her cheeks, and then went back to her lips.
“If you can bring yourself to marry a mere baronet, nothing and no one shall stop you from being mistress of my home.”
“But your sister! We cannot do that to her!”
“Warrie is the seventh Viscount Deveridge with his own estate not a day’s drive from here. It has a much grander house and property than this one. I am the trustee. It may be a bit of a wrench for her, but Marianne living here was only a temporary measure. The family who has been renting the mansion has given notice, in fact. The property will be ready for her to remove to in October. I think when all is said and done, Marianne will be happy to have her own establishment. It is where she lived until Ian’s death, after all. We can still remain part of her and the twins’ lives.”
“I have never heard you say so many words at once,” she said, feeling an enormous burden lift from her chest. “I love you dearly.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Not half as dearly as I love you.” He kissed her again, so heatedly that she was reluctantly forced to pull away.
“When I first met you,” she said, “I do not think I could have imagined you to be such a man of passion. I know it is terribly forward of me, but I cannot wait until October. That seems eons away.”
His eyes kindled, and before he could kiss her again, she asked, “Will you come and make a home with me in Dorset in the meantime?”
“You are brilliant as well as lovely. It makes you all the more enticing. I shall speak to your father tomorrow.”
Her high spirits and his fervent kisses combined to make her dizzy. “He will be very happy that I have chosen so good a man. He never liked William.”
“He is a wise judge of character, obviously.”
“Obviously. I cannot imagine my life if I had married him! Besides which, my feelings for you are so much more powerful. I trace it all back to the Egyptian antiquities. I believe those strange gods cast a spell on me.”
“I was stricken the first time I looked into your eyes. I saw something in them I had never known before. I believe I was bewitched. You have my whole heart.”
“Clearly, mysterious forces have been at work here. That speech sounded like it came from one of your letters.”
“I do love you, Lady Catherine—with my whole soul.”
Catherine initiated another captivating embrace. She felt a warmth and desire within her that she had never known. This home was a perfect gem where their love could grow and flourish. The future extended before her not with showy glitter but with the golden glow of happiness.
* * *
When Catherine saw Lady Deveridge the following morning after having walked in the gardens, the woman was a different person. Her face reflected contrition.
“I am so sorry if my words to you last night caused you pain. The future would not come clear. I am, after all, not totally dependent on my brother. It is time that Warrie lived in his own house. And it is less than a day’s drive from here. I so want my brother to be happy, and you have made him so.”
Catherine was very glad to see her happier. “We are both lucky to have such a man as Sir Bertie in our lives. I have often commented to my father when I was vexed how unfair life is to women, but we are both in the hands of a good man.”
“I agree,” said Lady Deveridge.
Catherine confided, “I have already decided that I shall start a school and teach reading and sums to the children on the estate. I had an excellent education, and I long to put it to use.”
“That is a capital idea!” said Lady Deveridge. “You will make such a wonderful wife to Bertie, and, I hope, a friend to me.”
Her father was very happy to give his consent to the marriage of his daughter and Sir Bertie, Baronet.
“You shall be vastly content, my dear, which is a good thing in life. I shall give you a house in London as your wedding gift.”
“Oh, Father, that is too much, really!”
“The whole of my fortune is not entailed. Why should it all go to your cousin?” He grinned and winked at her.
“Why, indeed?” she said.
Epilogue
The summer day upon which Sir Herbert Backman, Baronet, made Lady Catherine Redmayne his wife was the happiest of his life. They were married at the chapel belonging to Westbury Castle by the vicar who had baptized her. Present were Bertie’s family and dearest friends, who were exceedingly pleased for him, along with a host of Redmayne connections.
Gweet and Warrie spread rose petals down the aisle of the church before Lady Catherine proceeded toward Bertie on her father’s arm. She wore a gown of gold silk tissue, and her head was wreathed in summer flowers.
As they spoke their vows, he could feel Lady Catherine tremble a bit beside him. He looked a question at her, but she gave him a brilliant smile that sped his heart.
When they walked down the aisle together, the organ played a grand recessional, and Bertie realized he had never dared see past this moment. But it had happened.
Lady Catherine Redmayne was now Lady Catherine Backman. She was his. What he had foreseen that day on the stormy beach had, to his amazement, come to pass.
Gweet summarized all their feelings when she said, following the wedding breakfast, “I hope when I get married that I shall look as beautiful as you, Lady Catherine. I think Uncle Bertie has found an enchanted fairy. I have never seen him look so happy, even when he is working on that fusty old Rosetta Stone!”
The End
Thank you for reading Not an Ordinary Baronet. Did you know that it is #3 in the series Three Gentlemen of London? You might enjoy the first two books which are:
Her Fateful Debut
His Mysterious Lady
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