Catherine turned, hands on her hips. “I will not keep hurting him.”
“Why don’t you let him decide what he’s willing to sacrifice instead of trying to make the decision for him?”
“Maybe I’m afraid of what he’ll choose.” The tears welled up in her eyes. “Before his care…” Her palm went to her chest. “His kiss…I could pretend it wouldn’t hurt so much if he chose someone else.” Catherine slid back into her chair. “But now? Now, I can’t imagine anything hurting as badly as having him ripped from my life. If I stop things now, before I fall deeper and harder, before he even considers anything like love, then maybe I can protect both of us.”
Ashley’s stare penetrated Catherine’s excuses. “You’re scared, and you’re playing it off as self-sacrifice.”
“Scared?”
“I never imagined you to be a coward, but that’s what this is all about.”
Catherine shot back to her feet. “I’m trying to do what’s right.”
“Right? All I hear is that you’re trying to keep yourself from being hurt. You’re not giving David or God enough credit.”
Ashleigh paused in the doorway. “Love hopes and perseveres. It doesn’t seek its own, it believes. Look what God has proven so far.” Ashleigh gestured toward the room. “Running away only takes you further from the truth. If you love David, have faith in him…or, if nothing else, have faith in God.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“There is one way to resolve the rumor no one has mentioned in this discussion.”
Catherine looked at Madame across the table where they sat in the back of her shop. Annie, pen in hand, waited to list possible options for increasing the fundraiser’s attendance. Marianne sat to her left, adding snippets of sunshine to the frustrating conversation.
One sleepless night in Beacon House gave Catherine ample time to ponder possibilities to counteract Lady Cavanaugh’s hideous rumor. Somehow, she needed a way to create her own information and disperse it to the village. True information, instead of the negative and biased drivel coming from the general direction of Ednesbury Court. Discovering how to do that posed a quandary, however.
She’d entered Madame’s shop readied with purpose and hoping for answers. So far, the answers proved less than helpful, and one of Madame’s even bordered on illegal.
“What resolution is that, Madame?”
Her sliver of a brow rose, expression impassive. “You could marry him.”
Clearly, the answers edged to the ridiculous. “Marry him?” Catherine looked to Marianne, whose smile grew with fairytale musings.
Annie’s raised brow provided some solid grounding. “Next option?”
“Is there any legal way to have Mr. Dandy called up for active service?” Catherine offered.
“None of which I am aware.” Madame tapped her fingers to her chin. “But my brother-in-law is in town now, and he works for the British government. He might…what do you say, pull a string.”
“A few strings?”
“Oui.” Madame grimaced. “I have not liked Monsieur Dandy since he put my good friend out of business. Pierre, the other lone Frenchman in town, ran a respectable newspaper. Then, once Lord Cavanaugh died, Madame enlisted Dandy’s allegiance in reducing poor Pierre to nothing.”
Annie tossed down her pen and sat back in the chair, palms splayed on the table. “Well, since Dandy’s the only local paper now, I don’t see any way to counter Crow Cavanaugh’s influence apart from starting a paper ourselves.”
Catherine paused. “Madame, does Pierre still live in Ednesbury?”
A light of understanding brightened in her eyes. “Oui, though his shop is one of the Lady’s properties.”
“Do you know if he still has any of his equipment?”
She blinked. “Certainemant, but his shop is—”
“Owned by Lady Cavanaugh, yes, I know.” Catherine stood. “But what if…what if it wasn’t?”
“What do you mean?” Annie posed the question.
Catherine turned to them. “Mrs. Bradford, my new housekeeper, gave me more information about Lady Cavanaugh’s finances because many of her friends are servants at Ednesbury Court…or were servants there, until recently, when Lady Cavanaugh began sacking them. And, of course, servants tend to overhear conversations.”
“I had a tendency to plant scandals for my servants to hear.” Madame sighed as her gaze faded in memories.
Catherine pinched her grin, not prepared to delve further onto the topic of Madame’s past scandals, real or not. “If Ednesbury Court is in need of money, they might be desperate enough to sell some”—Catherine shrugged—“unimportant outlying buildings to someone who is willing to pay handsomely.”
“Zut alors!” Madame exploded from her chair and came to take Catherine by the arms, kissing her on either cheek. “You should have been my daughter!”
Catherine laughed and then sobered in order to plan. “But would Pierre be willing to consider reopening his paper? And quickly?”
“I’d imagine he’d approve of the change in his landlady,” Annie said.
“And we could advertise your gowns, Catherine. Like a proper designer.” Marianne’s glow shone.
“Wait,” she raised her palm. “That might be the cover we need, because Lady Cavanaugh would never sell it to Catherine Dougall.”
Annie stood, grin tilted like the perfect plot. “But Catherine Everill?”
“Oh la la,” Madame tossed up her hands. “C’est parfait! You will go in disguise.”
“I don’t think there is a costume made well enough to disguise me from Lady Cavanaugh’s hawk-eyes.” Catherine took another round of pacing. “But couldn’t someone go in Catherine Everill’s stead? Wouldn’t great ladies have liaisons of some sort who completed their business for them? Secretaries, perhaps?”
“Surely Catherine Everill will be extravagant and unlike the English.” Madame snubbed her nose. “She’s American, after all, so her behavior will not be questioned as much as ridiculed later.”
Catherine grinned. “And I’m well-equipped for that.”
Madame continued. “And you could use your grandmama’s solicitor to complete the paperwork for the transaction, should the lady be amenable to the terms.”
The possibilities spun an untapped thrill. Perhaps this was the beginning of something bigger…something to truly turn Ednesbury around. “But who do we know that could play the part of an American secretary?”
Everyone turned and looked at Annie.
Her palms came up and she shook her ginger curls. “Me? Oh come now, you think I could play a part like that?”
Catherine closed in. “You’ve been a secretary before, and to a wealthy land owner at that.”
“And we know you can imitate accents.” Madame hedged her in on the other side. “Though the American accent will not have as much elegance as the French one.”
“You can also wear some lovely outfit, a suit designed by Catherine Everill, no less.” Marianne’s bright smile brought enough optimism to light up the back corner of the store.
Catherine leveled her with a pointed stare. “And you would be taking away some of Crow Cavanaugh’s power and giving it back to the people.”
“Giving back a little of what the Crow has chucked at us?” Annie’s smile took up the challenge. Even her freckles brightened. “I think this idea is gaining merit.”
The bell chimed in the shop to announce David’s presence, but the only person to notice was a young lady at the counter. She offered a welcome smile and then froze, eyes widening. After a moment’s examination, he realized the shopkeeper was none other than Marianne, one of Catherine’s emergency assistants.
Her pale blue gaze drifted to a display of a mannequin in an elegant, deep purple gown, but standing near the gown was the reason for his venture into the unknown world of women’s fashion.
Catherine stood, running her fingers over the gown’s sheer sleeve, staring up at it as if concocting a plan. His smile exp
anded along with the warmth in his heart. She’d disappeared from Roth for two days, and finally, after some carefully worded questions to Ashleigh and a few threats to Michael, he’d deduced where to locate his runaway American.
His beautiful runaway.
Her navy skirt cinched at her waist and her white blouse, with a low collar, highlighted her neckline. Only a trained eye, or an admiring one, would have noticed the added roundness at her middle. David shed his coat and made a stealthy approach. No more running. No more hiding.
“Pardon me, miss, but do you happen to carry men’s shoes?”
Catherine turned, a sardonic expression in place, before recognition dawned in the depths of cobalt blue. Her rose lips dropped open and then snapped closed before she took a few steps back. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought it fairly obvious.” He lowered his voice to match her whisper.
“Men’s shoes?” She needled him with a glare and slid until the mannequin separated them. “You are not helping rumors by being seen with me.”
He attempted to step around the mannequin, but she moved to keep the display between them. “What if I don’t care about the rumors?”
That answer paused her escape. “You have to care. It’s your father’s reputation, and yours. Please, leave.”
“What if I don’t wish to leave? In fact, I think I’ll purchase something for my sister.”
David made his way over to a display of blouses and plucked the first one, a bundle of pink ruffles. “What about this one?”
Catherine’s derisive chuckle answered. “She’d as soon die as wear something like that.”
At least she kept talking to him. What about another try? The next blouse he procured was a confection of lace in a unique combination of pale green and yellow.
“Don’t even consider it.” Catherine’s voice came from behind, closer. “If you’re truly looking for something for your sister…” She marched past him to another display and tossed a narrow-eyed glance over her shoulder before taking a pale blue blouse from its place. “Then this might be more appropriate.”
Catherine knew his sister. The simplicity and elegance of the blouse matched Jessica’s practical personality. He held Catherine’s gaze and stepped forward, placing his hand over hers on the blouse. “Perfect choice.”
She stared up at him, the fight fading for an instant, both frozen in place, as much a display as the one next to them. She finally tugged her hand free, leaving the garment in his hold, and her expression turned pleading. “Please go.”
He didn’t budge. “Why did you leave Roth Hall?”
“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.”
“What else? I know there’s more than that.”
She pinched her eyes closed and sighed. When she opened them, a sheen of tears glossed the sapphire blue. “It…it’s too much to be near you and not be…”
He edged a step closer. “Yes?”
“With you.” She blinked and looked away. “And being with you causes horrible things to happen, as I knew it would, so I…I won’t stay.”
He cradled her chin in his fingers and tipped her face up to look at him. “I want to be with you, no matter the consequences.”
She stepped back, dashing a tear from her cheek. “You can’t mean that.”
David growled, shoved the blouse back onto the display, and took her by the arm. “Let me prove something to you.” He started for the front door of the shop.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m removing all of your excuses.”
Marianne tossed a coat over the counter to him as they passed and, in a flash, they stood on Main Street together.
“What are you—?”
“Put this on.” He wrapped the coat around her shoulders, drawing her close enough to drink in the sweetness of lavender. “We are going for a walk.”
She attempted to pull back, but he held her trapped inside the coat, leaning forward in an almost inappropriate public display. “Upon reassessment, perhaps I do enjoy trapping you.”
Her narrowed eyes meant to put him off, but only endeared her to him all the more. She slid her arms reluctantly into the sleeves of the coat, and before she could slip away, he linked her arm through his and started walking toward down town.
“You are… This is…”
“Good morning, Mrs. Regan.” David nodded to two older women approaching them on the street corner. “Mrs. Ramsey, how is your daughter?”
The woman’s typically sour expression transformed with the personal touch. “I’m so glad you recommended Coltsfoot for her asthma. Dr. Carrier kept giving her some useless tonic.”
“I’m glad to hear it was helpful. Sometimes natural sources provide a perfect alternative.” He gestured toward Catherine. “Have you had the opportunity to meet Miss Catherine Dougall?”
Both women peered down their noses, inciting David’s defense.
“Catherine is the woman I spoke of, who helped save the orphans during the fire.”
Both women’s eyes widened, and they looked to Catherine in reassessment. He turned to Catherine, her forehead a wrinkle of confusion. “Mrs. Regan and Mrs. Ramsey serve as the Women’s Mission Leaders for orphaned children of war.”
Catherine tilted her head and, if he wasn’t mistaken, nipped back a smile. She, then, raised a brow to him in challenge, turned to both of the ladies, and offered her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet women of like passions.”
Heaven help him! Her double entendre nearly evoked his laughter.
Mrs. Regan stared at Catherine’s hand, unmoving, but Mrs. Ramsey took it after a moment’s hesitation. “A pleasure.”
The man was off his trolley!
He ignored her blatant and somewhat annoyed stare as the two women bid their good-days and walked on.
“You think yourself clever in some way with this…plan of yours.” She smiled at the passersby and then continued her whispered battering. “But it is apparent you’re either sleep-deprived or going mad. This will unequivocally inspire more rumors of the same theme, Dr. Ross.”
“And I’m proving to you that it doesn’t matter, Miss Dougall.” He eased her down a step, his palm on her elbow, and then relinked their arms.
She loved the strength of him and the way she fit by his heart. And though his scent of peppermint softened her annoyance a little, it failed to stop her from fastening another scathing stare on him.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t as scathing as she’d planned because his beautiful smile hit her scowl with some sort of melting force.
“My past doesn’t matter?”
He stopped their walk and turned to face her, his teasing glint replaced by a flash of fire in his green eyes. “Not to me. I’ve allowed my aunt enough influence. I don’t need anyone else’s approval to know what is right. She may control this village, but she won’t control us.”
“Us?”
He angled his head, studying her with such tenderness, her thoughts fogged into sweet oblivion. It wasn’t a fair disagreement if he used such a potent weapon.
“Yes, Catherine.” He breathed her name, and the fog thickened until she wanted to sway into those strong, safe arms and remind him of the supply closet. His thoughts must have turned in a similar direction, because his gaze dropped to her lips, evoking an anticipatory tingle. “Us.”
Laughter from down the street pulled them out of the trance, and he cleared his throat, continuing toward the pinnacle of Ednesbury’s quaint village, the public park.
It’s manicured lawn and trimmed trees brought people from all over the village to enjoy the refreshing green. Rich and poor alike sat on the grass and enjoyed a bit of nature, though on separate sides of the park and never speaking to one another.
The November breeze brushed against Catherine’s cheeks, dousing some of the pleasing side effects of David’s presence and giving her back a bit of clarity. “Everyone will see us here.”
“Yes, Kat. They will.” He kept his face forward
, jaw set.
Her nickname, paired with his certainty, turned her emotions into a complete puddle.
He guided them across the street and began a promenade about the park. “I’ve wondered, the past few days, what can be done. There are only two answers.” He released a long sigh, as if the next words came with difficulty. “We go on with our lives regardless of anyone else’s disproval. And we attempt to show my aunt something she doesn’t understand.”
“Poverty? Sacrifice? A conscience?
He chuckled and placed his warm hand over hers on his arm. “Love. Real love.”
“Why would you show her love when all she’s done is hurt people?”
“The very nature of love is giving it even when that person doesn’t reciprocate. Or God’s sort of love is, at any rate.” He smoothed his fingers over hers, almost methodically. A gentle, caring touch. “I suppose it’s the heaviest blow against our pride, but it is also a powerful force, and most unexpected in this selfish, war-torn world. It has the ability power to turn people ’round.”
Uncharacteristic tears warmed her eyes. She placed a palm against her stomach, and the familiar sweetness of her secret love for this unborn child flooded through her. Yes, the baby couldn’t love her back, but she loved the little soul growing inside her with an inexplicable strength.
“You have more faith than I do.”
He led her to a bench nestled under a large oak in the center of the park and sat down beside her, keeping her arm tucked within his. “Although it feels rather bleak in relation to my aunt, God’s love has the power to change any heart.”
“Yes, but you’re assuming she has one.”
His full laugh broke the quiet of the park. “You, my dear, have a heart large enough to take on every hurdle with the tenacity of a new army.” He scanned the overcast sky and then bathed her in another beautiful smile. “And any man would be honored to be the beneficiary of such affections. Please, don’t run away any more. Don’t make excuses. Don’t hide in some vain attempt to protect me.”
The Thorn Keeper Page 24
