Not an Ordinary Baronet Page 8

  Sinking into a chair, she said, “To my knowledge, I have never seen the man. But I did hear his voice. It was distorted by the cave, but it seemed as though it should be familiar.”

  “Sir Bertie said that you frequent the beach the smugglers use. And worse, you have been shot at. You might have been killed, Catherine! How could I have borne it?”

  For a moment, she could only stand looking at the torment in his eyes. Then anger rescued her. He had forfeited all rights to feel such concern for her. How could Sir Bertie have gone to William of all people?

  “I may be in danger,” she said, raising her chin. “But you need not concern yourself with me. My brother knows of the danger, and except for tonight, I have not gone about in society. I do not know what you hoped to accomplish by coming here.”

  “Catherine . . .” His forehead was creased with anguish.

  “Please leave, my lord. And please cease calling at my house and writing to me.”

  “Can we not make things up between us?”

  His words shocked her. “Now you would cast Sybil aside? You would break her heart? I would never speak to you again!”

  Without another word, she rose from her chair and left the saloon. When she reached the stairs, she practically ran up to her room. Once there, she called Parker to help her undress.

  But when she was in bed, sleep did not come. Catherine could not even believe what had just happened. Her heart pounded, and her hands shook. Was this all a game to William? How could he have put her through the hell of social censure and a broken heart only to change his mind once more and think everything could go back the way it was? Of what value was the regard of such a man? Clearly, he had no proper feelings. She had thought him a cad before, but that was obviously too charitable a term. He was a complete . . . toad. She could not even think of a term bad enough to describe what he was.

  Yet, she could not but feel a bit of inner satisfaction that he regretted his decision. What woman would not? But poor, poor Sybil. Destined to marry a man who did not even know the meaning of love and commitment. How had Catherine ever thought to love such a person?

  Though she fought it, Catherine was swept into the memory of the last time she had been alone with William and what their conversation had been.

  “You are in love with my closest friend,” she had accused him. “Do not bother to deny it. I could read it in your face.”

  “I do not know of what you speak! Miss Anderson is my friend, as she is yours. We were speaking of you.”

  “Do not think I am still a green girl, William. You two have been seeing each other behind my back. Sybil has admitted as much. I know her feelings, and I know yours.”

  The memory made her angrier. How dare he come here tonight and intimate that he still cared for her! Had he no decency? No honor?

  Of course he did not. If he had, he would never have gone behind her back. He only wanted what he could not have—first Sybil and now her.

  What a goose she was! She had to get out of this whirlpool of emotions! To think that a week ago, she might actually have considered a reconciliation, she had been so miserable. Now all those tears, all that misery for naught!

  Finally, she lit her candle and, after several attempts, immersed herself in a tale of adventure written by an anonymous gentleman. She finished it at dawn. It was only then that she recalled she was to go into the East End to read again today.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bertie read the gossip column with annoyance over breakfast.

  Sir B— and Lady C— have surprised all their friends by showing a decided preference for each other’s company. Is a romance brewing so soon after Lady C—’s heartbreak? She showed very little interest in her rival, Miss A—, who came upon them at Gunter’s. Lady C— had eyes only for Sir B—.

  Well, Lady Catherine had certainly warned him. He was bound to stand some ribbing today from Beau and Tony. He had never been an object of gossip before.

  As an only moderately wealthy baronet, Bertie knew he could not in any way be considered an eligible suitor, but he did intend to enjoy her association as often as she was willing to grant it. He had relished their outing to the museum and was looking forward to their excursion into the East End today. Once again, he had been assigned as her escort.

  As he bathed and dressed, he wondered if Cumberwell had made any progress in identifying the Gentleman Smuggler. The sooner the blighter was apprehended the better, especially if he was employing Lady Catherine’s assailant. There was no telling where the man would strike. The whole situation made him devilish uneasy.

  Cumberwell had clearly been thunderstruck by his former fiancée’s danger. Hopefully the man would act swiftly to ensure her safety.

  After taking Hermes for a gallop in the park, Bertie met Tony’s brother, Howie, at Tattersalls to look at brood mares. Howie had taken over their late father’s stud operation at Southbrooke, Tony’s Kentish estate. The young man valued Bertie’s insight and had made an appointment for him to give his opinion on several horses he was considering adding to his stables.

  After this consultation, Bertie adjourned to the club for luncheon with Tony, who had at last returned to London from Dorset. He and his lady were stopping off for a day on their journey into Kent.

  “I read something in the gossip column this morning that intrigued me, old fellow. Did you really take Lady Catherine for an ice at Gunter’s?” asked Tony with a laugh.

  Sighing, Bertie took a sip of claret. “I did. Lady Catherine is fodder for the gossips since her engagement fiasco.”

  “That I am aware of. But didn’t Lady Catherine believe you to have shot at her?”

  “We mended our fences,” Bertie admitted. “We’re friends. Don’t go singing songs of April and May. Redmayne disapproves of me.”

  Studying his friend, Tony lit a cigar. “You are taken with the gel,” he said seriously.

  Bertie squirmed. “I enjoy her company.”

  “Any sign of the brandy-smuggling gentleman?”

  “None, so far. Spoke to Cumberwell at the Home Office yesterday. He’s going to look into it.”

  “Cumberwell! Lady Catherine won’t take that well, Bertie.”

  “All the more reason for him to take the business seriously. I don’t think the man is indifferent to her. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “The whole affair seemed queer to me,” Tony said. “Cumberwell has always struck me as a gentleman, and his actions in that case certainly were not those of a gentleman.”

  “It was Lady Catherine who cried off.”

  “Bertie! The man immediately became engaged to her best friend! Clearly, there had been something between them. That is why the gossip is so fierce.”

  Bertie knew this. Again, he remembered the sight of her in Fortuneswell, crying into her handkerchief. Now that he knew her better, he could not imagine anything else that would have upset her to that degree. Had she come upon them in a compromising situation? Was that why she had broken the engagement?

  What a fool Cumberwell was!

  And what an idiot I am. She could never care for an ordinary baronet.

  At that moment, a waiter approached him with a note on a salver. He didn’t recognize the writing.

  Sir Herbert,

  Your services will no longer be required to carry my sister to the East End. Henceforth, I will be performing that task.

  Redmayne

  Bertie felt the note like a blow. Was this the result of his visit to Cumberwell? Had Lady Catherine been so annoyed she had dispensed with his services?

  Tossing it across to Tony, he said, “What do you think?”

  His friend read it and said, “Clearly Redmayne reads the gossip columns.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine was exceedingly vexed with Sir Bertie. Had he completely forgotten that he was to escort her to the East End this afternoon? Cloaked and gloved, she paced before the fireplace in the red sitting room, wearing a new black velvet bonnet. After the
ir outing yesterday, she had thought he would enjoy spending time with her again today. Had she been wrong? Or had something happened to him?

  Robert looked in. “What are you doing, Catherine? Wearing out the carpet?”

  “Sir Bertie has not arrived to escort me to the East End. It may surprise you to learn that there are people waiting for the next installment of The Mysteries of Udolpho. I do not want to disappoint them, but it would be foolish for me to go alone. I do realize that, though you think I want for sense.”

  He laughed. “You look fit to be tied. Never mind. I will escort you today.”

  Surprised, she said, “Would you really do that for me?”

  “I have nothing planned of any great import. Let us be off!”

  * * *

  It gladdened Catherine’s heart to see that the church was full of people waiting to listen to her. Word must have gone about that there was an amusing time to be had. It pleased her that there were almost no jeers or other interruptions. The reading went smoothly, and she even had applause at the end of it.

  Robert stood at the back of the chapel, surveying each entrant and watching over the scene. While she knew he did not altogether approve of the project, it was good to have him there.

  “I cannot think why you waste your time in such a manner,” he said to her on their journey back to Mayfair. “You are doing nothing more than giving the rabble a taste for sensational literature.”

  Her indignation rose. “You would have me read improving sermons?”

  “I wouldn’t have you read at all. It is a sheer waste of good time,” he replied.

  “I think not. I am capturing their interest in the written word. Giving them some positive recreation, an escape from the only life they have ever known. I am confident that it will lead them to want to learn to read themselves. And reading will improve their lot.”

  “How will it do that?” Robert scoffed.

  “Little by little, they will become informed about the world. They will learn of something other than the superstition that plagues the poor. They will be able to take a hand in their own destiny. They will teach their children to read.”

  “Such a thing would be dangerous,” said Robert. “They would grow discontented with their lot. Soon, they would be no better than the mob in France who dragged their betters to the guillotine.”

  “I disagree,” she said sharply. “But I see I shall not convince you. You have the mistaken belief that the poor are born poor because that is somehow meant to be their station in life. I do not agree with you.”

  “Lady Clarice is turning you into a Radical. I won’t have it, Catherine! Not as long as you are under my roof.”

  “It is not your roof at all. It is Father’s, and he is not the hidebound Tory you are.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” her brother said. “You are making an exhibition of yourself. You are becoming odd like those old women at Blossom House.”

  “I take that as a compliment,” she said.

  They said nothing for the remainder of the way to Westbury House.

  * * *

  When Catherine arrived home, it was to find the odd ladies from Blossom House on her doorstep. Fortunately, Robert had taken the carriage off to White’s.

  “We just wanted to check to see how things were going at Saint Francis’s, dear,” said Lady Clarice as she seated herself in the red sitting room.

  Catherine replied, “Much better today. Tuesday was a bit difficult. But things were much calmer and I had a nice crowd today.”

  “I am so glad things were better. Sir Bertie called this afternoon and told us about last Tuesday. He was a bit concerned.”

  Catherine wrinkled her brow. “Sir Bertie called this afternoon? That is strange. He was supposed to escort me to the East End. When he did not arrive, Robert took me.”

  Lady Clarice exchanged a look with Miss B.

  “Go ahead and tell her, Clarice,” said Miss B. “She has a right to know.”

  Lady Clarice wet her lips, looking unsure.

  “What is it?” asked Catherine. “What did he say?”

  Lady Clarice sighed. “Well, it seems Sir Bertie had a note from your brother at his club while he was lunching. Lord Redmayne explained that he would be taking you to the East End today and you no longer had need of his services.”

  Catherine flattened her lips and clutched her fists. Springing to her feet, she said, “That is the absolute limit! I will not have my brother interfering with my life!”

  Miss B. said, “Calm yourself, Lady Catherine. Getting angry is not the way to handle this situation.”

  “He lectured me all the way home about the project, telling me it would lead to revolution!” Catherine told them.

  “He is a Tory, dear,” said Lady Clarice. “Such things are to be expected.”

  “I will see Sir Bertie to apologize! Can you invite him to your house so that I can meet him there? Robert is not my father. He cannot forbid me to continue my readings, so I do not intend to stop.”

  “Of course you can meet Sir Bertie at our house,” said Miss B. “How is your father, dear? I miss his coming to London. We used to have very lively discussions about natural history. He is quite fond of collecting butterflies, as I am sure you know.”

  “Father is doing well, though he is two and seventy this year. I think I must marry someone sensible before he dies, or Robert will make my life a misery. He is quite capable of withholding support to ensure that I stay under his thumb.”

  Lady Clarice and Miss B. exchanged a look.

  “Be careful, darling,” said Lady Clarice. “You do not want to exchange one unjust master for another.”

  “I intend to be careful. But at the moment I cannot even go about freely in society. It is most frustrating.”

  “Surely Lord Redmayne is not keeping you at home!” declared Miss B.

  “No. Not yet, anyway.” She told them of her history with her assailant, the Gentleman Smuggler, and Sir Bertie’s worries.

  “Oh dear. How dreadful!” said Lady Clarice. “But surely he would not try anything dangerous at a ball!”

  Catherine thought of her other reason for remaining out of society. “There is another reason I have been staying in. I am certain you can guess,” she said.

  Miss B. nodded. “The business with that cad, Cumberwell.”

  “I agree that he is a low creature,” said Catherine.

  “Miss Anderson certainly bears a part of the blame,” said Lady Clarice.

  “You cannot let them cause you to cower at home!” said Miss B.

  “No. But the smugglers are not so easily dismissed,” said Catherine.

  Lady Clarice put a gentle hand on Catherine’s arm. “We are having a small dinner party for some of our patrons tomorrow night. Lord William will not be in attendance, but Sir Bertie will be. Shall you come? My nieces, Penelope Wellingham and Elise—the duchess—will be there.”

  Catherine’s heart lifted. “Oh, I should like that above all things!”

  The two ladies stood. “We will send the carriage round for you at eight o’clock.”

  * * *

  To her great relief, she did not see Robert at all the following day. She allowed him to go on thinking that she would remain at home in the evenings as she had done since they had returned to London, save for her venturing out to the musicale.

  She devoted great care to deciding which gown she should wear to Blossom House. Finally, she chose her sea-green peau de soie with the silver tissue underskirt. Her auburn hair was dressed half up with three ringlets resting over her shoulder.

  By the time the carriage arrived for her, she was dressed in her white velvet cape with the fur-trimmed hood. Catherine was glad Robert had gone out.

  Settling back against the dark-blue velvet squabs in Lady Clarice’s carriage, she indulged her feelings. She was very much looking forward to an evening where Sir Bertie was present and William was not, although she did intend to roast the former for applying to Will
iam for help in the smuggling matter.

  Catherine was surprised at the size of the gathering. There were at least twenty people there, all apparently patrons of Lady Clarice’s literacy charity. Most were men, although there were some spouses and wealthy widows among them. Fortunately, none were the kind she considered gossips.

  She had to seek out Sir Bertie herself. He was speaking with the Duke and Duchess of Ruisdell. She started by addressing the duchess.

  “Your grace, how lovely to see you this evening.”

  “My dear Lady Catherine,” she said, fixing her with her famous midnight-blue eyes. “I understand you have begun the readings in the East End. How are they proceeding? Do you think the endeavor will be a success?”

  “I had my doubts at first,” she replied. “However, they seem to have caught on if today was any indication.”

  Bertie joined in the conversation at this point. “I am so glad to hear that all went well today. I am sorry I was not there to witness it.”

  “You must forgive me,” she said. “My brother was very high-handed. I understand from Lady Clarice that he wrote to you telling you he was taking me. But he left me completely in the dark about that.” She dared not say more to her brother’s discredit in front of the duke and duchess.

  A cloud seemed to lift from the man’s brow. He smiled at her, and her heart gave a little trip. She was very glad she had accepted Lady Clarice’s invitation.

  The two of them spoke with the Ruisdells about Lady Clarice’s project. The duke and duchess felt very strongly about it, and Catherine surmised that they were generous patrons. The duke’s architect was drawing up the plans for the school. She was very interested to hear all about the features of the new building.

  Bertie then proceeded to inform the duke about the Gentleman Smuggler and their adventures down in Dorset, leaving out the attacks on Catherine.

  “I don’t suppose you know a fellow who sells Saint Barnabas brandy to Brook’s or White’s,” he said.