She studied him, looking for any chink in his sincerity, any doubt in those eyes. His words wove in perfect synchrony to every line of his confident face. “Promise me.”
Could God truly give her this? Her stains still hung with an aura of newness from the townspeople and even her mother. Would God gift her enough with David’s love?
She placed her arguments under the steadiness of his confidence, and with a trembling breath, gave up her heart. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Good morning.”
David looked up from his father’s most recent letter, his note posing an unnerving question: how many lives would be saved if caught sooner? Catherine emerged through the doorway, breathtaking in dark blue, with tea tray in hand.
He pushed himself up to a standing position from his desk, drinking in the vision of her. “Good morning.”
She offered a coy smile as she approached. “I suppose you thought I’d disappeared again since I didn’t return to Roth last night, so I decided, in case you think I’m not a woman of my word, I’d make my presence known.”
He rounded the desk and took the tray from her, his fingers brushing across hers in the exchange. “Very chivalrous of you.”
“Quite, especially owing to the fact that I’m threatened with entrapment any time you’re near.”
He placed the tray on the small tea table and turned in time to help her with her suit jacket. As it slid from her arms, he lowered his mouth to her ear. “Don’t forget the kissing part.”
A tremor passed through her, teasing him to indulge a little longer. “Practice does improve one’s skill.”
She turned to face him, the blue in her suit deepening the color in her eyes, leaving him drowning in a sapphire sea.
“I assure you, Dr. Ross, I am not the type of woman who takes pleasure in being trapped.” She hesitated and then stepped into the periphery of his arms. “Unless it’s by you.”
In that one moment, she relinquished her heart. He saw it in her stance, felt it in the certainty of her stare. She’d made her choice, and heaven help him, that awareness shook him to the core. Such contained passion deserved a strong man. As he studied her face, he knew God would make him strong enough.
He touched the tip of her chin and closed in, keeping his gaze locked with hers until her eyelids fluttered closed in sweet acceptance. Her mouth encouraged him to linger, and he complied. Nothing else moved except their lips, slowly tasting and testing each other. It was the seal of a promise and the start of something relentless.
As he pulled away, she stood there, eyes still closed, as if in reverence to the beauty of the moment. If she stood in such a posture much longer, he’d have to indulge in some more practice.
She sighed and turned to the table. “Fanny said you hadn’t had your breakfast, so I hope you don’t mind if I share it with you.”
He took a seat, watching her hands move over the tea service without a fumble. “I can’t think of anything better to start the day. On both counts.”
A blush darkened her cheeks and made her even more appealing. “Cream and sugar, yes?”
“I love you, Catherine.”
“Oh,” she whispered. The stirring spoon crashed against the tray, drawing her attention back to her work. “You don’t waste any time, do you, Dr. Ross?”
She handed him his tea, and he captured her hand between his and the teacup. “David. Call me, David.”
Her smile bloomed. “David.”
He took the cup and released her hand, returning to his chair. “No, I don’t believe in it. Especially now, when young men are dying all over the world. Time isn’t a commodity, and I don’t want to take it for granted. If I love you, I want you to know.”
She kept her focus on her task of pouring her own tea, though the rise and fall of her breathing hitched as she worked. “Do you know something? I’ve never spoken those words to anyone.” She took her seat and studied him. “I’ve agreed to someone else’s assessment of my feelings or written the sentiment in a letter, but…I can’t recall a time where I’ve spoken them.”
“Why?”
She took a sip of her tea, halting her reply. “Perhaps it is because what I felt seemed much larger than three small words.”
His smile broke free. And his next challenge began. “If you choose to speak them, then, I’ll know their significance.”
“Fanny said you received a letter this morning that distracted you from breakfast.” She waved a hand toward the tea service with scones and bread aplenty. “Is everything well?”
“My father. The conditions at the Front are abysmal. The Casualty Clearing Station in which he serves isn’t equipped to manage the inflow of patients, nor the extent to which they are wounded.”
“I’m sorry, David.” Her compassion poured a calm over him.
“He’s a strong man, careful and good-natured.” David grinned as Catherine served him a scone. “He would like you.”
She raised a brow in doubt.
“He appreciates strong personalities. My mother was very much like my sister.”
Her other brow rose to match. “Then there’s hope for me.”
He stared back down at the letter. “I wish there was something I could do to help him. I can’t leave the hospital in such a state, but what else can be done in support?”
“We can pray for God to provide help?”
Her offering touched a deep place in his soul, her request effortless and genuine. He put his cup down and took her hand. “Yes, we can.” And with that, he brought her wrist to his lips and left a lingering kiss there. “Of course, we can.”
Catherine had promised the dark green walking suit would bring out Annie’s natural beauty, but Annie Feagan had barely recognized herself. With her hair twisted in some intricate knot, a posh suit, and a small, fashionable black hat to top it off, she looked the part of an American heiress’s secretary, even if the massive walls of Ednesbury Court reminded her of her true station in life.
She’d inwardly chided Catherine and Madame for their intense conviction that clothes and physical care made differences, but the proof stared back at her from the deference shown by each servant she passed on her way to Lady Cavanaugh’s parlor.
It brought her stance a little straighter and her head higher. There may be something to be said for a touch of fashion.
Annie fought a million distractions upon entering the grand house, from the dark floor-to-ceiling wallpaper to the expensive furnishing. Everything carried the scent of money…old money.
“I understand you wish to purchase the old print shop on the far east-side of Ednesbury?” Lady Cavanaugh sat behind a massive desk—large enough to place three full dress patterns—her dark eyes severe. Annie fought against her instinct to lower her gaze.
“My employer, Miss Everill, wishes to make the purchase.” Annie formed each word with precision. “She’s recently acquired a home near Ednesbury and desires to expand her property to provide additional housing for servants as well as other business ventures.”
The woman peered up over her glasses. “Why would a person of such means wish to settle this far from London?”
Annie refused to break eye contact, no matter how steely Crow Cavanaugh’s gaze. “Miss Everill enjoyed a rural life in the American south and finds more inspiration in the quiet of a country evening than the bustle of London’s streets.”
Lady Cavanaugh lifted her chin. “I have never heard of this designer.”
“Her designs are rather new to this part of the world.” Annie kept her gloved hands in her lap, refusing to fidget. “However, if you doubt her existence, you need only visit one of your local shops to see some of it on display. Madame Rousell’s is a-bustle with interest in Catherine Everill’s designs.”
“Madame Rousell? I don’t see how a connection with such a flagrant or base French woman could serve Miss Everill well?”
Heat began a steady climb up Annie’s throat. Madame might be odd and e
xtravagant, but she’d shown nothing but kindness to Annie and half a dozen other women.
“Madame’s openness to new ideas is the crux of her long-standing success, I should think.”
The Lady narrowed her eyes before dismissing Annie with a wave of her hand. “Since Miss Everill is such a new success, I don’t see how she can make a competitive offer for any of my properties. Have her come back in a year or two.”
“I assure you, she’s examined fair offers for such property.” Annie brought another paper from her satchel, the one Catherine had provided to use as a tease. It listed some of Catherine’s additional holdings from her inheritance. “She’s willing to offer this amount.”
Lady Cavanaugh’s solicitor took the paper and examined it. His bushy brows took flight, and he slid the sheet to Crow Cavanaugh, whispering.
Lady Cavanaugh adjusted her glasses and pressed a fist to her chest. “I…I believe you’ve given me the wrong paper, Miss Feagan.” She reluctantly returned the paper.
“Did I?” Annie looked down at the paper and gasped. “Oh, I do apologize. That was private information from this quarter’s accounts. Forgive me.”
“This quarter only?” Lady Cavanaugh’s eyes widened behind her spectacles, and Annie gripped her smile tight.
The bait worked. Catherine Dougall was as clever as a fox.
“Here is the actual offer.”
Mr. Clark’s wide eyes confirmed the generosity of the bid.
Lady Cavanaugh scanned the number and then removed her glasses. “How soon would Miss Everill wish to make the purchase?”
“As soon as Mr. Clark can draw up the papers.” Annie countered. “You know how we Americans can be.” Annie smiled. “Overly ambitious.”
Lady Cavanaugh hesitated and touched her fingertips together as she gave Annie another unnerving perusal. “I can have Mr. Clark draw up the papers immediately.”
“Perfect. I’m sure I can return them to you by tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Lady Cavanagh’s voice lilted.
“My employer is industrious. Most designers are, you know.”
Lady Cavanaugh sent Annie another measured look before answering. “Very well.”
“I’ll be certain to let Miss Everill know how agreeable you were to her request. It’s important to make the right connections.”
“Of course.”
“And should you have any properties you’d wish to sell in the future, please come to Miss Everill first.” Annie offered her card. “She’s highly interested in expanding her interests and dealings with the…right connections.”
“I brought the gowns you requested.” Ashleigh entered Catherine’s bedroom, or at least the one she’d claimed at Beacon House for the last few days. “And I thought, perhaps, we could prepare for the ball together.”
Catherine turned from the dressing table, still surprised by this new and missed camaraderie with her sister. They’d lost so much because of their father’s hideous choices and Catherine’s unyielding bitterness. So much. But God redeemed relationships, and perhaps, he could redeem time too.
“I would love that.”
Ashleigh placed the gowns on the bed. “The ballroom downstairs is remarkable, the entry way lined with the loveliest décor of lace and flowers.” Ashleigh shook her head. “No wonder you were the one gifted with the social eye.”
“It will take all the social sense I have to make this plan work.” Catherine stood and walked to the bed, glancing over the gowns.
Ashleigh examined her again as if through new eyes. “And I suppose you used some of that sense to inspire the new paper which arrived on Roth Hall’s doorstep this morning? I believe it was appropriately titled The Beacon?”
Catherine’s smile twitched and she moved to the dressing table. “Actually, the designer, Catherine Everill, is the mastermind behind the paper.”
“And Catherine Dougall is the mastermind behind Catherine Everill?” Ashleigh laughed. “I have no idea how you managed it all. Amazing.”
“It all brings such…joy with it, more than I ever imagined.” Catherine stared at her reflection, a welcome glow on her face with this truth. “Not only the designing, but serving others too. Quite a change, isn’t it?”
“So much has changed.” Ashleigh dropped to sit on the other side of the bed. “Even Mother is different. Do you realize she’s taken a fancy to Dr. Pike?”
Catherine turned, hairpin in hand. “I tried to ignore it, but it’s impossible not to notice.”
“I think it might do her some good.”
“No doubt.” Catherine turned back to the mirror. “But what about poor Dr. Pike?”
Ashleigh chuckled. “Mother is the type of woman that needs a doting man. He seems to lighten her mood and steady her emotions.”
“I should think a doting man would improve any woman’s mood.”
They both broke into laughter, and Catherine removed enough pins to have her hair falling around her shoulders in a blanket of black.
“I’m glad to hear your laugh again.” Ashleigh smile grew. “Your true laugh. It’s been a long time.”
Catherine tossed off the compliment with a shrug and stood, reaching for the buttons of her skirt. “Do you remember what Grandmama used to say about good laughter?”
Ashleigh steadied her shoulders, taking on the posture of their dearly departed _Grandmama. “A room without healthy laughter is like—”
“—a picnic without salt.” Catherine’s skirt dropped to the rug. She stepped out of it and began unbuttoning her blouse. “Which mother would readily correct.” Catherine attempted to imitate their mother’s voice. “It is infamous to show all your teeth in a laugh.”
Ashleigh began taking out her own hairpins as she moved her lips to cover her top teeth. “I still haven’t sorted out how one laughed without showing one’s teeth a little.”
“Neither have I.”
Silence sobered the moment. “Fanny told me that Nathanael is adjusting well to his new home.”
“Yes. I heard the same.”
“And they are doting on him like mother over a new gown.”
“Then he’ll be well-loved, you can be sure.” Ashleigh stepped toward Catherine and waved toward the gowns littered across the bed. “Speaking of gowns, which one will the infamous hostess of the ball wear tonight?”
Catherine rounded the bed to take in the options, the ache less when couched in her sister’s comforting presence. “I’m not officially the hostess, remember. Catherine Everill has been kind enough to offer her home for our fundraiser.”
“Ah, yes.” Ashleigh shook her head. “I wonder how long you’ll be able to maintain the charade.”
“As long as needed, I hope.” Catherine examined the gowns. “You brought three more than I requested.”
“Your choices weren’t elegant enough.”
Catherine had intentionally kept her requests to the less extravagant side, quelling the inner-debutante into submission. “And which would you choose for me?”
“This one.” Ashleigh brought Catherine’s favorite from the mass. A deep red, sleeveless evening gown, with a v-cut neckline and swaths of glorious silk running in a diagonal pattern down the skirt. The princess waist of the dress accented all the natural curves Catherine used to flaunt, and the color complimented her hair and eyes in a flattering way.
“Oh no, I don’t think I could wear that one.”
“Why not? It’s a perfect gown for you. The style, the design…especially the color. Your figure is still well intact, without showing your pregnancy at all. No man would be able to keep his eyes off of you.”
Which was reason enough on its own. But oh, how she loved the sweet memories of turning heads, the rush of pleasure at feeling beautiful. Her hand reached for the material, almost of its own accord. What would David think?
She smiled at the thought. “I’ve worked so diligently to separate myself from the woman I used to be and this…this elegance is a luxury I can give to other women, bu
t I shouldn’t indulge it anymore.”
“What do you mean?” Ashleigh came to stand close to her. “The gown didn’t cause you to sin. Celebrating the beauty God has given you…” Ashleigh’s index finger pointed along with her brow. “Celebrating, I said, not flaunting, won’t take you back down a path you left.”
“I’ve been mostly content with fashionable walking suits. Fine with the clothes of everyday, but an evening gown?” Her gaze went back to the dress, inspiring a longing to slip back into the elegance. Her palm moved to the small bulge at her stomach. “Do you think he’ll accept this baby? It’s one thing to take me with all of my scars, but what about her?”
“It’s time you trusted David to be as big-hearted and certain as we’ve seen. You have this beautiful opportunity to start over, for you and this baby.” Ashleigh took her by the shoulders. “David knows what he’s doing, Catherine. Enjoy this love you’ve always hope to find. You don’t have to keep living with guilt and fear. Christ’s love for you comes without strings. He’s given you a gift for fashion, a personality to regale a roomful of people, a mind to use to glorify him by helping others. He’s made you beautiful, inside and out. Find joy in that knowledge instead of guilt and condemnation. Celebrate this second chance.” Ashleigh gestured with her chin toward the bed, her gaze poignant. “And wear the red gown.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
From David’s perspective, the bazaar was a success. It might not have brought in the largest amount of financial support, but the positive hum from the people of Ednesbury brought its own rewards. Support. The type money can’t buy. Positive, word-of-mouth support.
And he wanted to shake hands with whoever owned The Beacon newspaper. Somehow, its recruitment of people from villages on all sides of Ednesbury, many of those elite, spurred another bolster to David’s hopes. Perhaps a proper hospital was less than a struggling year away.
Surprises continued to mount, as well as a deeper appreciation for Catherine Dougall’s intricate creativity and unrelenting energy. How she’d coaxed the owner of Beacon House to host a ball on such short notice, he’d never understand. The massive, wood-paneled doorway welcomed him into an extravagant entryway, decorated with seasonal bouquets of delphiniums, paper whites, lilies, and roses.
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