Anne Barbour (26 page)

He bowed and. turning, walked swiftly away from her.

* * * *

“Oh, my dear, I am so sorry about all of this.” Miranda spoke mournfully to Catherine in the abbey’s airy breakfast room the morning after Drew’s dramatic announcement. “What a perfectly dreadful thing for him to have done.”

“But perfectly understandable, you will agree.” Catherine pushed her portion of eggs and York ham about her plate m endless circles. She looked about the room, empty except for the countess and herself. “I suppose everyone is upstairs packing.”

“Yes. There has been a steady procession of footmen back and forth between various bedchambers and the emerald salon, where all the wedding gifts had been placed on their arrival. Oh, dear,” she uttered a small, hiccupping sob. “I just cannot bear it.”

Catherine rubbed her eyes wearily. She had spent a sleepless night pondering on what she might have done to avert the calamity that had befallen her. Her thoughts had circled in an endless, futile maelstrom, and she had cried endless, painful tears. When the first traces of morning had begun to show against her windowpanes, she had risen, exhausted and miserable.

“I suppose I had better do the same.” she said to Miranda. “Pack, that is.”

“Please do not be in a hurry to leave, dearest. Unless—of course, if you feel uncomfortable staying in the same house with Drew, I understand perfectly.”

“Well, yes, I do rather. And I should imagine Drew feels the same.” Odd, she thought distractedly. Even saying his name caused a wave of hurt to sweep over her. She rose and moved toward the door, halting as she heard Miranda speaking to one of the hovering footmen.

“Yes, James. Please send someone to the summerhouse. I must have left my spectacles there yesterday—or no, it must be the day before, and I shall need them this morning for my embroidery.”

Catherine turned. “I shall be happy to do that for you, Miranda. I would welcome a turn out in the fresh air.”

“Oh, but—Very well, my dear. That is kind of you.”

Wrapping the shawl she had brought into the room with her against the early morning chill, Catherine hurried from the house via the double doors that gave out onto the north lawn.

Miranda, too, rose from her chair and stood at the door for some moments watching Catherine. A slight frown gathered between her brows as she noted a slender figure glide from another exit and follow Catherine as she rounded the corner of the house.

She turned at the sound of footfalls behind her, and broke out into a broad smile.

“Why, good morning, Drew. I was just hoping a stalwart male would come to my rescue. I hope you will not mind postponing your breakfast for a few moments, for I have a small favor to ask you.”

* * * *

The clouds of yesterday lingered like unpleasant memories, but the day was warmer. Catherine inhaled the fragrance of summer blossoms and freshly-mown grass. She was pleased that she had taken on this small task for Miranda. Perhaps a walk surrounded by nature’s beauties would provide balm for her wounded spirits.

Nature, however, had failed in this purpose by the time she reached the summerhouse, and she opened the door with a sigh—only to be brought up short by the sound of someone approaching behind her.

“Why. good morning, Theo.” she said in some surprise.

* * * *

In a black humor, Drew trudged across the grass toward the summerhouse. Blast Miranda, anyway. Why did she need her damned spectacles right this minute, for God’s sake? There were squads of servants milling about the place, but his sister-in-law had claimed they were all busy at appointed tasks and could not be spared.

He had not come to the breakfast room to eat. He had merely stopped to collect a cup of coffee on his way to the stables. After pounding his pillow all night long in a futile courting of sleep, he had risen with the dawn, determined to ease his troubles with a bruising gallop over the downs. He would ordinarily not have minded a detour to please Miranda, but this morning he was in no mood to do anyone a favor.

As he topped a small hill that overlooked the summer-house, he was surprised to observe that someone was there before him. Who could be out and about at this early hour?

With an uncomfortable churning in his stomach, he recognized Catherine. And she was with a man! Good God, was he witnessing an assignation between his ex-betrothed and the man she truly loved? He expelled a sudden gust of breath, as though he had been kicked.

Oh, my God, the man was Theo Venable. He was shaken with fury, followed by a surge of helpless misery as Theo’s arms came up to gather Catherine into an embrace. Unable to watch, he swung about to return to the house. But. . . no... wait! She was resisting—pushing against Theo, but the smarmy little worm was paying no attention to her protests. He had her clutched in a damned death grip and was fairly raining kisses on her hair, her cheeks, her mouth, and anywhere else he could manage to plant them. Catherine struggled in his grasp to no avail.

Blindly, Drew hurtled down the hill. His mouth opened in a mindless, atavistic howl as he approached and, startled, Theo released Catherine.

“Drew!” Catherine gasped, as she attempted to repair the damage done by Venable’s onslaught. By God, he had torn her dress!

Drew advanced with both fists raised, but Theo seemed unperturbed.

“Morning, coz,” he drawled. “What brings you out at this unseasonable hour? Must say your appearance is extremely inapropos. The lady and I wish to be alone.”

Still in an unthinking fog of pure rage, Drew did not answer—did not so much as hesitate in his course toward Theo. He pulled back his good fist and let fly with a single blow, one in which he packed all the frustration, humiliation, and anger of the past several months.

Theo crumpled like an empty sack of meal, and Catherine stood motionless with shock as Drew stood over him menacingly. It was several seconds before Theo stirred, and when he did it was to scuttle on elbows and posterior as far away from Drew as he could manage in such a position.

“If you ever,” growled Drew, “molest Miss Edgebrooke again, I shall repeat the lesson—times ten. Do you understand, you unconscionable snake?”

Theo had by now managed to struggle to his feet. He had fished a handkerchief from his pocket to press to his streaming nose, and he nodded.

“At least.” he said, somewhat unintelligibly, “admit that if you had not taken me by surprise, you would have not managed such a hit.”

“Possibly not,” admitted Drew, with a mirthless grin, “but I’ll certainly be willing to try.”

Behind the kerchief, Theo attempted a small smile. “I believe you would. And it is equally apparent that I have made a gross error. My apologies—to both of you.”

He
turned and walked away, with a rather unsteady gait.

Drew turned to Catherine, who gazed at him wide-eyed.

“Drew, that was—that was magnificent.”

He gazed down at his hand in some wonderment. “It was, rather, wasn’t it? I did not know I could do that.”

“Well, I did. And I am so glad you appeared. The wretched toad simply refused to believe I was not delighted by his attentions. If you had not come, I don’t know . . .” She forced a laugh. “It appears you are still my hero, after all.”

Drew’s returning smile was rigid. “Doing it rather too brown, my dear. Still”—he continued, still in a tone of bemusement—”I fancy perhaps I am not quite useless, after all.”

“No,” she breathed, placing her fingertips on his arm. He stepped back abruptly, and she caught her breath. In the turmoil of the moment, she had almost forgotten that he would no longer welcome her touch. She dropped her hand and began to turn away. “Oh, dear,” she said suddenly, noticing for the first time that her bosom was barely covered by her torn gown. Drew removed his jacket in some haste.

“Allow me,” he said, draping it around her shoulders. The next moment, he found his arms were around her shoulders as well, and despite his best efforts, he could not seem to remove them.

With a groan that seemed to come from the center of his being, he caught her in a rough embrace and pressed his mouth on hers. He ground her lips beneath his until she thought he must be drawing blood, but she did not pull away from him. Instead, she pressed her body into his, exulting in his strength and the scent of him that seemed to fill her senses.

He thrust her away from him abruptly and stood staring at her for a moment. His breath came in gasps, and when he spoke, his voice was ragged.

“I—I did not mean to do that.”

“No?” she said, her own voice breathless. “You seemed quite purposeful.”

“Nothing has changed between us, Catherine.”

“You are right. Drew. Nothing has changed to alter the feelings we have for each other. For, as much as you may try to deny it, you love me. And I love you.”

He groaned again, and spun away from her. In a moment, however, he turned to face her again. “If only I could believe that.”

She stared at him mutely. This was how it was going to end, then. Despite everything she had said—despite whatever he might feel for her, he could not believe her. It was over, she thought dully, aware of the pain that waited to descend as soon as she fully assimilated those impossible words.

She became aware in a remote corner of her mind that the sun had come out. How odd, that the sun could still shine on a world that would never contain happiness for her. She turned to walk back to the house, but was stayed by Drew’s hand on her arm.

“What is that?” he asked, reaching for the chain she wore about her neck.

“What?” she asked blankly.

“This little circlet. The sun caught it just now. It—it looks like—”

Her fingers curled protectively about her talisman. “It’s nothing. Just a silly trinket I have kept by me. Please excuse me now, Drew, I must leave.” She must get away before the tears banked behind her eyes began to spill over. He must not see her cry.

But he had clasped her arm with one hand, while with the withered fingers of his other, he scooped up the little pendant.

“Why. it is!” He lifted his gaze to hers. “It’s a—

“It’s a sixpence,” Catherine’s voice broke on a sob she could no longer contain. “It—it’s the one I threw at you.”

“You kept it all this time?” Drew’s voice was tight with an emotion she could not name.

“Yes.”

“But—why?”

“Why do you think, you idiot?” Tears streamed down her cheek now, like rain sliding down the fronds of a garden flower. “To remind me of what an awful thing I had done— to help me remember never to do it again—and—and later to remind me of what I had tried to throw away—and, later still,” she whispered brokenly, “as a remembrance of the man I had come to love.”

Drew stared at the coin. His fingers were very warm against her breast.

“My God, Catherine,” he breathed at last. “Ever since I left? You wore it all this time?”

Something stirred within her at the expression in his eyes—something very like hope. She scarcely dared breathe as he gathered her in his arms once again. She lifted her face for his kiss and this time it was gentle and infinitely tender—at least at first. His mouth moved on hers with increasing urgency until, after several moments he drew back to gaze at her, and now the expression in his eyes was unmistakable.

“Oh, my God. Catherine,” he whispered exultantly, “I do love you so very much. And you do love me. You really love me.”

The tears still fell from Catherine’s eyes, but the smile that shone through them was blinding.

“What have I been telling you all this time? Do you not listen? Of course, I love you. I always have and I always will.”

He enfolded her in his arms once more and it was many more minutes before he lifted his head from hers again.

“I expect we had better get back to the house or we will have no guests left to attend our wedding. They’re all getting ready to leave.” He brushed a tendril of hair away from her cheek, and the smile he bent on her was open and so full of love that Catherine thought she might very well explode with joy.

She said only, “Yes, indeed. Oh. Drew—do you know— if you had not happened along just then to save me from a fate worse than death, I would have been packed myself and gone within an hour or so.”

Drew chuckled. “I did not just happen along. My busy sister-in-law sent me out here to retrieve her spectacles.”

Catherine shot him a puzzled glance. “Oh. but—” She laughed. “Never mind.”

She would thank Miranda later.

Having found the spectacles on a little table in the summerhouse, they began to make their way back to the house. As they walked, Catherine removed the sixpence from around her neck. Drew glanced at her in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asked in surprise. “You are not going to throw it at me again, are you?” He cringed in mock dismay.

“Oh, no, my love, but the clasp seems to be loose, and I don’t want to lose it.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously. “I shall need it for my shoe, after all.”

“Of course you will,” he said promptly. “No bride should be without one,” he added solemnly. “Now come here and let me kiss you again.”

She did and he did, and the little sixpence, dangling from her fingers, tumbled and glittered in the morning sun.

**

Melody

I

Some might have called the ancient country church picturesque. It stood beneath lowering skies, huddled amid bare trees and a tumble of mossy gravestones, its roots seeming to have spread through the centuries. The man who moved uncertainly among the graves shivered inside the warmth of his sheepskin coat.

Tacitus was right, he thought sourly. England was a cold, misty, unpleasant place. The damp seemed to penetrate his very bones. Lord, he must have been out of his mind to come here. He was an American, for God’s sake. He did not belong in this land of chilblains and propriety.

He gazed about him and sighed. On the other hand, he supposed the setting was perfect, considering his purpose. As he moved past several rain-slicked tombstones, his eyes narrowed. He approached an area separate from the other graves, protected by a decorative fence. Opening the gate, he stepped inside.