He had stood on the brink of the precipice, looked down, and thought, in that terrifying instant, ‘Very well, I’ll jump.” Now he drew back in horror. That awful girl could do whatever she liked with him! It was not to be borne, not by Clarence Arthur Maximilian Demowery. He would not be managed and reformed by an obstinate little prig.
Could the objective observer have looked into his mind, he or she would have concluded that Lord Rand was hysterical. Unfortunately, the viscount had no disinterested parties to point this out. Therefore, not half an hour later, when his dance with Lady Diana had concluded, he had asked for and received permission to call upon her papa the following day.
“My dear, you do deserve a severe scold, but in the circumstances, I forgive you.”
Lady Diana gazed wearily out the carriage window. “Yes,” she murmured, “at last you have your wish.”
“All the same, you are not to dance with that man again, even after you’re betrothed. The effrontery of the creature—to dare show his face at Almack’s. I cannot imagine what the patronesses were thinking of, to allow that fellow entrance. It is the coat, of course. Women are altogether too susceptible to a dashing uniform.”
Lady Diana said nothing.
“Still, we will say no more on that head. I’m very pleased with you, Diana,” said her ladyship. “I was sure Lord Rand must come to the point soon, once you made an effort, but tomorrow is better than I expected. Lady St. Denys—just as your papa and I have always hoped.” Lady Glencove signed happily. “I can hardly think how your sister Julia can do better.”
“Oh, you’ll think of something, Mama, depend upon it.”
Word of Lord Rand’s proposal was all over London by teatime the following afternoon, Lady Glencove’s servants proving even more assiduous than their mistress in relaying the momentous news. This was no doubt because the betrothal was to be kept secret until Lord Glencove might make a formal announcement at an appropriately grand party.
Catherine was told the secret by Molly, who announced it as one would an unnatural death.
“I ought to’ve told her ladyship first,” said Molly, shaking her head in sorrow, “only she’s sick again and his lordship there with her and them having a row about sending for the leech. That’s the trouble with folks as are never sick. When they are, they won’t believe it and act like I’d go away on that account.”
What Catherine did not believe at the moment had nothing to do with Lady Andover, but with the cold sensation in the pit of her stomach. “Offered for Lady Diana? Are you certain, Molly? That is to say,” she added hastily, “I would have thought he’d have mentioned his intentions to his family.”
“I don’t see how he could, Miss, as he never comes no more and even her ladyship says he hardly says two words when she sees him anywhere else, either.” She cast a reproachful look at Miss Pelliston, who did not see it, the maid being at her back unfastening buttons.
“That will do, Molly. I can manage the rest myself.”
Molly departed with the air of one following a funeral procession, and Miss Pelliston stumbled to her dressing table. Perhaps she had tripped over the truth, because she sat for a long while staring at her reflection in the glass, then spent another long while after, weeping.
That night Catherine attended a rout with her host and hostess. Lady Andover seemed to be in excellent health and spirits, despite the “shocking squeeze” that signifies a successful entertainment. She was well, that is, until they were heading home again. She climbed into the carriage wearing a very odd expression, sat down, and fainted dead away.
Sir Henry Vane, the family physician, was sent for the following morning. Half an hour after he departed, Catherine was summoned to her cousin’s study.
When she entered, the earl was standing by his desk, an odd, faint smile on his noble face as he gazed at the papers neatly arranged there.
“My Lord, is she all right?” Catherine asked immediately, forgetting her manners in her anxiety about the countess.
The earl came out of his daydream though the smile remained.
“Catherine, you are very obstinate. You have been living under my roof at least a month now. You are my cousin. Ours is a distant kinship and I know you like to be respectful, but surely you might omit my style. Louisa threatens to wash your mouth out with soap if you ‘my lady’ her again.’’
“Cousin Edgar,” Catherine said obediently, “do tell me. What did Sir Henry say?”
“That is better. I had meant to save the physician for last and tell you my news in order of social consequence, but I see you have contracted the Demowery impatience. Please sit down, my dear.” He indicated the chair by his desk.
Catherine sat, wishing she could shake the news out of him. Her cousin had such a fondness for roundabout preambles.
“As you must know by now,” he began, “once Louisa gets a notion, there is no preventing her putting it into action. According to Sir Henry, my lady wife has taken it into her head to commence a family. Reasoning with her is of no avail.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Louisa plans to present me with a son or daughter before Christmas. There is no stopping her, according to Sir Henry.” Lord Andover did not appear in the least desirous of halting his wife’s impetuous progress. His dark eyes glowed with pride and happiness.
Catherine jumped up from her chair to hug him. “Oh, that is wonderful news!” she cried. “I know how you have wished for children. How excited you must be, and how happy I am for you both. Louisa is going to have a baby.” Her eyes grew moist. “That is marvelous news.”
Abruptly she realised that in her enthusiasm she’d crushed her elegant cousin’s neckcloth. She let go of him with a stammering apology.
“Don’t be silly, Catherine. On such an occasion even my dour valet must forgive you. Besides, Louisa has already made rather a shambles of my ensemble, and in all the excitement I forgot to change before sending for you. Really, this has been a very busy day. Do sit down, Cousin. I have something more to tell you.”
Though Catherine had much rather dash up to her ladyship’s chamber, she quelled herself and sat down once more.
“As you know, Catherine, your papa has entrusted you to my care and engaged me to act in his behalf, which was wise of him. Once cannot forever be consulting him on every question. The distance is most inconvenient and his self-imposed isolation from his peers equips him ill to judge objectively.”
Isolation—intoxication was more like it, Catherine thought, though she said nothing.
“While I act in his stead, there are some matters in which your opinion is paramount.”
Papa would hardly thank you for that, was the silent reply—but I do.
“Lord Argoyne has asked permission to pay his addresses.”
Catherine immediately abandoned all thoughts of her papa to turn a startled gaze upon her cousin.
“His timing was unfortunate,” the earl continued. “I was expecting Sir Henry at any moment. I explained that my wife was ill, and in the circumstances I could not possibly give proper attention to any other subject. He seemed to find that startling. It is just as well. That is a man who wants startling at frequent intervals. He may be a duke, but he is a very dull duke. He has no business being so. It sets a bad example. I hope you have not conceived a tendresse for him, Cousin. I should, of course, accede to your wishes, since it is you who would have to marry him. Still I must warn you that if you do, Louisa and I cannot possibly visit you above once a decade.”
“Good heavens—a duke—offered for me—why, I hardly know him.”
“That is just as well. He does not improve upon acquaintance. I take it, then, I might tell him to go to blazes?”
Catherine thought rapidly. “It is a very good match. He might have looked much higher. Perhaps I’d better have him. I can scarcely expect a more advantageous offer—or even another,” she added, frowning.
She had rather have Mr. Langdon, she thought, ruthlessly banishing anot
her image from her mind. He was most attentive, but he was so shy and so preoccupied with matters literary that likely he’d never come to the point this century. She began to wish she’d acquired a few of those feminine arts she’d always scorned. Sometimes men required firm guidance. Now, with Louisa enceinte, there was no time to waste. Catherine could not expect to reside with her cousin forever, and Louisa would soon be unable to chaperone her.
“Maybe it would be best to accept him,” she said with a dreary sigh.
“Catherine, it is most unlike you to be so silly. Argoyne only wanted to be ahead of the other fellows. I must say I find his haste indecent. You have only been out a few weeks. Perhaps he takes his example from my impetuous brother-in-law.”
He must have noticed Catherine’s wince, because he added, “Still, as you appear so terrified of finding yourself on the shelf, I shall ask him to call again in another month or so if he is still of the same mind.”
With that, and reassurances about Louisa’s health, and further assurances that the Dowager Countess of Andover would be delighted to take over as chaperone whenever Louisa was prevented by her condition, the earl dismissed his cousin.
Chapter Eighteen
“Where the devil’s Jemmy? I haven’t seen him in days.”
Lord Rand tore off his coat, neckcloth, and waistcoat, and flung himself onto the bed. He had not drunk an unusual quantity of wine, but lately he did not require very much alcohol to become dizzy and tired. Perhaps that was because he’d spent the past eight nights thrashing among the bedclothes instead of sleeping like a good Christian.
“I couldn’t say, My Lord. Evidently, Madame Germaine is extremely busy these days. He has not been by since—” The valet hesitated.
“Since when?”
“I beg your pardon, My Lord. As there has been no formal announcement in the papers, the matter at present is mere household gossip.”
“What matter? What in blazes are you talking about?”
Blackwood bent to retrieve the abandoned articles from the floor. “There is word that your lordship has contracted an alliance with one of England’s great families.”
“Oh, that.” Lord Rand scowled at the bedpost.
“When Jemmy received that word, he left the house. He has not been seen since.” Blackwood straightened and draped the garments over his arm.
“Just like that—not a word?”
“Actually, My Lord, he had a great deal to say on that occasion. If you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not repeat it.”
The viscount transferred his scowl from bedpost to servant. “No, I won’t excuse you. What did the brat say?”
“He found fault with your thinking processes, My Lord.”
“None of your euphemistic translations, Blackwood. What did he say?”
“His words, as I recall, were, ‘He’s got no more brains ‘an ‘at shoe.’ He pointed to his footwear. He followed that with a long, not entirely coherent speech about his education, in which Miss Pelliston’s name recurred repeatedly. He expressed doubts regarding a profession as a tiger. Mr. Gidgeon pointed out alternatives, to which Jemmy responded he’d rather live in the Hulks.”
“Spoiled,” said the master. “That’s what comes of indulging the whims of—of maternal butlers. You’re excused, Blackwood. Wait—where are you going with my clothes? I’m going out again.”
“Yes, My Lord. I was taking them away to clean them. There is a spot of wine on your coat and what seems to be a gravy stain on your waistcoat.”
“Well, what do you expect? I’m a barbarian, ain’t I? Barely civilized, you know. Brought up by wolves. And illiterate. Not to mention a drunkard.”
A light flickered very briefly in the valet’s eyes, but his face was otherwise expressionless as he responded, “I beg leave to disagree, My Lord.”
The figure sprawled on the bed heaved a great sigh.
“You’re loyal, Blackwood, besides being a paragon. Because you’re loyal, I’ll share my secret with you. There’s been no announcement in the papers because the girl’s parents want to bore everyone to death with another overcrowded party where they’ll make the announcement and expect the world to be astounded. Ask Hill when that is— I don’t remember. End of the week, I think. In short, I am engaged to be married to Lady Diana Glencove.”
“Then may I take leave to wish you happy, My Lord?”
“You may wish,” the viscount answered gloomily, “all you like.”
To find Lady Diana Glencove in the drawing room was hardly surprising. She was, after all, engaged—though unofficially at present—to Lady Andover’s brother. What did surprise Catherine when she joined the sisters-to-be was that Lord Rand’s fiancée had stopped by primarily to ask Miss Pelliston to accompany her to Hatchard’s.
“Lord Rand tells me you are a prodigious reader,” Lady Diana explained. “It would be a great pleasure to have the company of one who shares my fondness for books.”
To refuse would be rude, to make excuses cowardly. Catherine had no reason, she told herself, to avoid Lady Diana’s company. Lady Andover having an errand or two to be performed in Piccadilly, the matter was speedily settled. Catherine would shop for a while with Lady Diana before going on to Madame’s for her regular Wednesday appointment with Jemmy. The Andover carriage would retrieve her at the usual time.
When they reached Hatchard’s, Lady Diana suggested that her abigail perform Lady Andover’s errands.
As soon as the reluctant maid departed, Lady Diana turned to Catherine and said in a low voice, “I’m afraid I asked you here under false pretences, Miss Pelliston. The plain fact is that I am in need of a friend at the moment. Lord Rand has spoken so highly of you. Your efforts on behalf of that poor orphaned boy I found particularly touching.”
Catherine abruptly realised that her mouth was hanging open. She shut it, but continued to stare in bewilderment at her statuesque companion.
“That is why,” the goddess continued, “I dared hope that perhaps you would act the part of a friend for me.”
Catherine stammered something that must have sounded like agreement, because Lady Diana quickly explained her difficulty. There was a gentleman, a member of her brother’s regiment, who had formed an attachment for her some months ago. Unaware that her parents had ordered her to see him no more, he had followed her to London.
“It is very difficult to explain, Miss Pelliston, but I must speak with him. My engagement came as a shock to him, and I feel I owe him a proper goodbye.”
Catherine might have made a speech about filial duty, but her heart was not in it. She only nodded sympathetically and pointed out to her companion that they could not remain whispering in the street.
The fair Juno glanced over her shoulder, then led the way into the bookshop and stopped in an unoccupied corner.
“He is waiting for me near the theological books. I will be no more than five minutes. I would not involve you, Miss Pelliston, but Mama has set my maid spying on me. If Jane comes back too soon, I had rather she didn’t see me with him. Will you help me?”
Catherine examined her conscience. She did not understand what needed explaining to the fellow. Wasn’t Lady Diana’s betrothal to another gentleman sufficient? Still the lady wanted only five minutes and her disappointed suitor might be entitled to a kindly farewell. Miss Pelliston agreed to help. She would wait by the door. If the Abigail made an unwelcome appearance, Catherine would distract her, loudly enough to alert Lady Diana. Would that do?
“Oh, yes. Bless you, Miss Pelliston.” Lady Diana squeezed her companion’s hand then hurried off to the religious works.
The kind farewell took nearly half an hour, and Catherine grew mad with frustration. After reading the titles displayed by the door at least a hundred times, she lost all patience with Lady Diana and her thickheaded suitor. Miss Pelliston was also most displeased with Lord Rand. If he had not praised her to his fiancée, Catherine would not be in this awkward position now.
Lady Diana should not be
meeting clandestinely with other men, regardless the reason. It was improper and equivocal. She should not engage in any behaviour that might trigger nasty gossip, that would make vicious-minded people laugh at or kinder hearts pity her affianced husband.
Not that Catherine pitied him, she thought, glaring at an innocent volume of the recently published Pride and Prejudice. His fiancée was beautiful. She did as her parents commanded and all the world knew they’d ordered her to have the future Earl of St. Denys. He would marry her and do as he pleased, and so would she, after presenting him with the requisite male offspring. They would live as others in the Great World did—serene and comfortable. There would be no battles of will and none of that passion that gnawed at one and frightened one and made one so very unhappy.
Lady Diana finally approached, carrying two of Hannah More’s pious works. The tall fair one had time only to assure Miss Pelliston that “everything was settled” before Jane appeared, her face a mask of suspicion. Not another word could be uttered on the subject after that because the abigail was at their elbows all the rest of the time they shopped.
As previously arranged, Lord Glencove’s carriage deposited Catherine at the dressmaker’s. The coachman was about to start the horses again when his mistress cried out to him to wait. She turned to her maid.
“Go see if my bonnet is ready, Jane,” the lady ordered, indicating the milliner’s shop opposite.
“If it please your ladyship, Mrs. Flora did say it wouldn’t be ready until Monday.”
“Well, I have a mind to wear it tomorrow. See if you can hurry her.”
The sullen maid took herself across the street and disappeared into the milliner’s shop.
“Oh dear,” Lady Diana exclaimed. “I forgot to tell her about the ribbon.” She disembarked. “We may be rather a while, John,” she told the coachman. “Perhaps you would like to walk the horses.”
John would like, actually, to stop at a friendly place around the corner and refresh his palate with a pint of something. Visits to milliners, he knew, consumed at least half an hour. He smiled and drove down the street.