Catrin poked her tongue at him.
Ben laughed. “Where to, now? I am at your disposal for the afternoon. Tonight, I warn you, we are all dining at Verey’s. Wakefield insisted.”
“Thank goodness I packed an evening gown,” Catrin murmured. Something was niggling her. Something which Gascony had said. She turned to Ben. “What is the time, Ben? You just looked at your watch.”
“It lacks a quarter of the hour of four,” he said. “Plus or minus a minute or two. Why?”
Four o’clock. That was when Sullivan Cornell usually strolled to the tea house two doors down from the building where the magazine had its offices. He would drink a pot of tea and eat a scone with blackberry jam and clotted cream, before returning to the office to work until six o’clock or later.
Routine—that was a thing which united them, he had told her, when he first proposed he accompany her.
“Could we…do you mind if we stop at Fleet Street?” Catrin asked. “I’m not sure why, but I have the strongest sensation I must speak to Sullivan Cornell.”
“It is a day for following instincts instead of plans,” Ben said. “Dropping in upon Gascony without warning seems to have worked well. Perhaps startling Cornell will do the same.”
He chatted quietly as they crossed Mayfair, heading for Fleet Street, bringing Catrin up to date on the latest news in the Wakefield household, including the adventures of their children. Even though they were Wakefield’s heirs, they were Ben’s children and the four adults in the house all doted upon them.
Catrin couldn’t settle to listening, even though she was interested in everything about Ben’s life, including his odd domestic arrangements, which kept four people very happy indeed.
What had Gascony said which now sat festering in her middle? She couldn’t pin it down.
They were upon Fleet Street before she had her answer. “The tea house—that one there, please,” she said, pointing.
As the carriage pulled level with it, moving slowly because of the thick traffic and many pedestrians, Ben knocked on the roof.
The driver called to the horses, who plodded to a stop with no need to stamp on the brake. Ben swung down, then handed Catrin down. “Would you like company, or not?”
Catrin considered it seriously. “I think…not, if you don’t mind, Ben? I should clean up my own messes.”
“Is that what you are about to do? Oh, dear.”
“I didn’t know it until just this moment, but yes, I think so.” She sighed. “It would be cruel to continue leading him on and letting him hope.”
“It would,” Ben said in agreement. “Some men take it badly, being told they are no longer the center of a woman’s thoughts and heart. So if you don’t mind, I will take a table near yours—out of earshot, but within sight and reach if I need to be.”
Catrin smiled up at him. “You are the perfect elder brother, Ben. Thank you.”
He tucked her hand under his elbow and walked her toward the tea shop. “It is really the scones and clotted cream I’m interested in,” he assured her.
They moved into the shop. Catrin had never stepped into the teashop when it was not extremely busy. Even in this, the off-season, and the depths of winter, there were few tables available. The murmur of conversations and the clatter of china teapots against cups was a pleasant background noise.
Catrin spotted Cornell. He was at the same table he had used when he had brought her here at the end of the season and made his extraordinary proposal that they move their business relationship into something far more personal.
“There he is,” she murmured.
Ben patted her fingers, let go of her hand and moved toward the nearest spare table.
Catrin moved through the tables, murmuring her apologies as she brushed between chairs and unhooked her train…really, these chairs and tables were far too close together for a properly-dressed lady to negotiate them. In fact, there were more men sitting at the tables than there were women.
Sullivan Cornell looked up as she approached and smiled, delight flooding his face. “Miss Davies,” he said, getting to his feet.
Catrin held out her hand toward him. “Mr. Cornell,” she said politely. “I wonder…might I join you?”
“Of course!” He moved around the table and pulled out the chair for her. She settled on it, as he tucked it back beneath her. Sullivan was as well-mannered as any society peer.
Catrin considered Sullivan as he sat back down. He was good looking in a neat and tidy way. His hair was swept back and he was clean shaved—an oddity in this age of full beards. Daniel was also clean shaved…
Daniel.
Catrin almost gasped as she finally recalled what Gascony had said, which had lodged in her middle, bothering her.
I love her. I only know that now, when she is gone.
Catrin recalled what she had told him in response. There is someone else who is yours, and you will find them, by and by. You merely found someone against whom you can measure all others. When you find the one who surpasses them, then you will know you have found your true love.
Catrin gripped her hands together. All this time, every fawning man who had ever paid her a compliment she had compared to Daniel and found wanting. Even Sullivan Cornell, who was a kind and good man, as well as one of the smartest editors she had ever met, she had compared to Daniel and found to be not quite sufficient.
She measured men against Daniel, who surpassed them all.
She loved Daniel.
Sullivan tilted his head. “Are you alright, Catrin? Would you like some tea? My scone…” He pushed his plate toward her, with the split scone piled high with preserves and cream.
Catrin shook her head. “Sullivan, I’m sorry. This is…I am not here to be sociable. In fact…” She swallowed. “I don’t think we should be sociable at all in the future. I think we should return to the business relationship we had before.”
Sullivan lowered the teapot, his gaze on her face. He seemed stunned. “What has happened? Why have you changed your mind? Last August you agreed—”
“I know what I said, Sullivan.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know I was in love with another man at the time, and for that I am sorry. I did not mean to mislead you. It has only been today that I have come to realize I should not let you live in hope any longer.”
Sullivan’s jaw tightened. He shook his head.
“Sullivan?” she said softly, puzzled by his reaction.
“A typical woman,” he breathed, sitting back. “I thought that you, out of every woman in the world, would be different, but you are not. You are being led by the nose by this foolish belief that true love will complete you. It is a fallacy, Catrin—one I am surprised you are falling for.” His voice was harsh.
Catrin swallowed. The criticism hurt because there was a kernel of truth in it. She was behaving like a woman in love. That was the only truth in what he said, though. “No, you are wrong, Sullivan. Love is real. I know that now. I finally understand how powerful it is. One day, you will, too.”
He snorted. “As it doesn’t exist, I doubt that.”
“Are you ready to leave, Catrin?” Ben asked, by her elbow.
Catrin blessed him. Ben had surmised she would need a graceful way to leave and was supplying it.
“Of course, Ben. At once.” She got to her feet, while Sullivan glared at Ben. “Mr. Cornell, may I present my elder brother, Benjamin Hedley Davies, partner at Davies & Spearing. Ben, this is Mr. Sullivan Cornell, the editor of the London Gentleman’s Monthly magazine.”
Ben nodded at him. “Pleasure, Cornell,” he said shortly. He pulled out his watch and glanced at it.
Catrin picked up her reticule. “Goodbye, Mr. Cornell.”
Sullivan Cornell breathed heavily. “Yes,” he said, his tone flat.
“Before we head back to the house, Ben, I want to stop at the train station and secure a ticket,” Catrin told him.
“Right now?” Ben asked, his brow lifting.
�
��Yes. For tonight’s midnight sleeper to Penzance.”
Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Penzance,” he breathed. “Innesford,” he added. He smiled. “Daniel, Catrin?”
Catrin drew in a breath and let it out. “I’ve been all sorts of a fool…” she began and halted. Daniel had said exactly that, barely two months ago and she had not listened. Her heart thudded with a sick feeling. “I only hope I’m not too late…”
Ben picked up her hand and held it. “You are one of the most convincing women I’ve ever met. I’ve read Gresham’s new book, remember? You will find a way, little sister.”
But she wasn’t as sure as Ben. She had sent Daniel away. She had removed all hope.
Catrin dressed for the evening and tried to enjoy the sumptuous supper the Wakefields and their partners provided, even though she longed to race to Innesford right now. The midnight train was the fastest train to Cornwall, though. She had hours to spend in London before she could board it.
Ben knew what was on her mind. Perhaps he told Wakefield and Sharla and Stephen, for all four of them seemed determined to keep her occupied. They asked questions about her books and stories and her plans for the future. They supplied her with gossip about the ton, and the earliest arrivals back in London and how they had spent their Christmas seasons.
Catrin did her best to be a pleasant dinner companion, too. The evening would have been a roaring success by anyone else’s standards, except for the fear which sat in her chest, drawing all the warmth from her body.
The Wakefield coach delivered her to the station at eleven-thirty. Ben found her compartment and dropped her case onto the overhead shelf. He lowered the bed for her, then kissed her cheek. “It will be fine,” he assured her.
“Says the man who spent years thinking nothing would ever be fine again.” She tried to smile to ease the sting of her retort.
Ben nodded. “True enough, Cat. That is why I know it will work out. If I managed to find a way, then you must surely be able to. You’re both single and unencumbered.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Although Daniel is a stubborn cuss…”
Catrin slapped his arm. Ben hugged her, laughing, and returned to the carriage.
The journey to Cornwall was a sleepless one for Catrin. She could not change out of her evening gown, for she had no maid and there was not enough room in the sleeper compartment for her to struggle with stays—for the evening gown had a twenty-inch waist and her traveling suit was an inch smaller.
Not that she could sleep, even if she changed into bed clothes. She had the conductor fold up the bed once more and sat on the padded bench beneath, instead. She tried to read but could not focus upon the words.
What if she was too late?
The fear grew, the closer to Innesford she got.
By the time the train pulled up to the platform at Truro, Catrin’s heart galloped with an anxiety which made her unable to sit still. She found one of the local hacks and waited for him to return with her case, aware of the startled looks she got, for she stood in silk and lace and shimmering beads, while the sun rose above the roofs of Truro.
The journey to Innesford was a mere twenty minutes, yet it felt as though a year passed before she saw the sand-colored walls of the big house and the many planes of the dark green roof.
Catrin left her case on the front doorstep, where the driver had dropped it, and hurried into the house. Travers usually hovered by the door whenever she arrived here, only this time she had arrived without warning.
“Catrin, is that you?” Cian called. His voice came from the small dining room.
Catrin leaned to look around the door frame. Cian was also leaning across the table, to spot her through the door. A newspaper was spread out before him—the Times, judging by the size of it.
Catrin hurried to the dining room door.
“What on earth are you doing here?” Cian asked. His gaze lifted from her hems to her hair. “Did you catch the midnight sleeper?”
“Yes,” she said. “Cian, is Daniel here? I need to speak to him.”
“Daniel? No.”
Her disappointment was so acute, she clutched at the doorframe, sick weakness stealing her strength. This was what she had feared.
“He’s out riding along the cliffs,” Cian added. “Are you quite alright, Catrin?”
Catrin leaned against the door. “He’s here?” she breathed, her voice without strength.
“In a manner of speaking. He could be miles away.” Cian settled back in his chair. “Let me get you a cup of tea. You look as though…Catrin?”
She whirled away. “No, thank you!” she called over her shoulder. “I must find Daniel.”
Catrin hurried across the big drawing room, which felt larger than ever with no one in it. She pushed open one of the French doors and stepped out into the cool morning air and wrapped her shawl about her arms and shoulders.
She was used to seeing the grass on the other side of the gravel closely mown and rolled flat. There was always a pavilion to the far left corner of the house, where they ate their lunches.
Now there was nothing but pale brown grass, still dormant from the winter, with patches of snow between the tufts.
Her train hissed as it slid over the gravel. She heard the beading on the lace rattle but didn’t have the patience to sort out her train and pick it up. The dress would just have to be ruined. She didn’t care.
Catrin walked down the long length of lawn to where the manicured growth ended and the salt bushes and railings which guarded the edge of the cliffs took over.
Between them was a wide track which people and horses and dogs had worn smooth over generations, to the point where nothing grew there anymore. The pale band of earth ran parallel with the cliff edges, for miles and miles along the coast.
Catrin stood on the bare track and closed her eyes, listening. Faintly, she heard the rapid thud of a horse’s hooves, coming from the south. She turned and looked to the south.
The horse was the roan stallion whom everyone in the great family had tried to ride at least once. Only Cian managed to contain the beast with any degree of control. Daniel rode the stallion now, although it seemed he wasn’t interested in controlling it. The pair of them flew down the track, both looking wild and unkempt, with Daniel clinging to the horse’s back. The head of the hunt would be appalled at his lack of posture.
Catrin merely thought he looked as though he was a part of the animal.
She knew the moment Daniel spotted her, for he sat up and the horse immediately slowed to a canter, then a trot, then to a sedate walk. The stallion stopped in front of her, blowing hard.
Catrin caught the bridle and patted the horse’s nose, as Daniel threw himself out of the saddle. He did not dismount with decorum at all. He wasn’t wearing proper riding attire. It looked as though he had pulled on whatever pants and shirt he had to hand when he rolled out of bed. He wore no collar or cuffs, nor jacket.
His eyes gleamed in the morning light, as he came to her. “Then you are not an illusion.” His voice low.
“Daniel—”
“Is that the silk I brought you from Singapore?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted, pleased he had noticed.
“Show me.”
Catrin unwound the large shawl and let it drop from her shoulders. It was a cold February morning. She barely noticed.
She had spent weeks directing the seamstress on the making of the dress and had been delighted with the results. There was no other silk dress like it in London—not that season or any other.
Daniel slid the shawl away from her with his spare hand and held it, examining her. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed.
She couldn’t wait a moment longer. Catrin stepped even closer to him and brought her hand to his cheek. She needed to touch him. “I love you,” she breathed. “I always have. I just didn’t know until late yesterday.”
Daniel closed his eyes and drew in a breath.
Catrin’s heart felt as though it hung b
etween one beat and the next, while she waited for him to react.
He opened his eyes once more and held the reins toward her. “Hold these for a moment, please.”
Puzzled, Catrin took the leather straps.
Daniel shook out her shawl, then swung it behind her and settled it over her shoulders. He pulled it together in front of her, then gripped it tightly and drew her to him and kissed her.
Catrin bubbled over with joy. She melted against him, as his mouth branded hers. He held her against him and for many long moments, the kiss continued, as her body grew heated and throbbed.
Daniel let her go. He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. He was smiling. “I believe we may have just announced our feelings to all of Cornwall. This cliff can be seen in Falmouth.”
Catrin shook her head. “I don’t care.”
“You should,” he told her gently. “Anyway, the horse is growing cold. Let me get him into the barn and a blanket on him. Then we can talk.”
Catrin handed him the reins. He led the horse toward the stables, which were on the south side of the house, with the groomsman’s quarters over the top.
Then he reached back and picked up her hand and drew her up against him.
Dizzy with joy, Catrin let him tuck her beneath his arm and pressed herself against him. The strength and heat of him was delightful. She had not thought a man could actually feel so…solid.
She didn’t walk back to the house. She floated.
Daniel led the stallion into the stable. “The boy won’t be here until later, so I must tend to him myself,” he told her. He unwound his arm and lifted her fingers. “Stay right there. Yes?”
She nodded. “No more running away,” she promised.
“For either of us,” he replied. He took the horse into its stall, to brush him down and add his blanket. Daniel hung a net of hay over the door, then came back to her, unrolling his sleeves. He was so alive and full of vitality, it caught her breath in delight to watch him move.
“You are an astonishing contrast of gleam and glitter against the straw you stand upon,” Daniel said.
Catrin reached for him again, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him with fervor. It was as if she could not get enough of his kisses.
Degree of Solitude Page 16
