In Bed With the Devil (8 page)

“I
have it on good authority that Mr. Marcus Langdon has filed a bill in the Court of Chancery in order to reclaim his English estates. It is a start toward reclaiming his rightful title,” Lady Charlotte said.

Catherine and Winnie, along with the Countess of Chesney, were having afternoon tea in Lady Charlotte's garden. While she'd only recently had her coming out, her father, the Earl of Mill-bank, was most anxious for her to marry. Who could blame him? She was the first of four gossipy daughters, which was one of the reasons she had frequent visitors. She seemed to know things before most people did.

“Then you mustn't do anything to discourage his interest,” the Countess of Chesney said.

Lady Charlotte smiled knowingly. Obviously her good authority was Mr. Langdon himself. Catherine had seen them dancing together at balls and walking through Hyde Park. Still, she hadn't realized Lady Charlotte's interest in the untitled gentleman was so intense.

“But the Crown has already declared Lucian Langdon as the rightful earl,” Catherine felt a need to point out. She knew Mr. Langdon—he was quite social—and she liked him well enough. He was no doubt the rightful earl. Lucian Langdon had not denied the truth of that matter, to her at least. But still she had a difficult time imagining Marcus Langdon as earl. Or perhaps it was simply that she couldn't see Lucian Langdon as
not
being earl.

“Mr. Langdon's contention is that King William was deceived, and being quite up in years—he was seventy at the time, after all—he was taken advantage of. Queen Victoria can set the matter to rights. If Mr. Marcus Langdon can simply get the courts to recognize that the property is truly his, then he will have the weight of the courts behind him when he petitions Her Majesty.”

“I daresay, he's a very brave man, your Mr. Marcus Langdon,” Winnie murmured. Then all eyes came to bear on Winnie, and she seemed to wither beneath the scutiny.

Catherine hated that Avendale had transformed a once-vibrant woman into such a mouse. She reached across the table and squeezed Winnie's hand. “No doubt you're quite right about Mr. Langdon. After all, Claybourne is not called the Devil Earl for nothing. I don't expect he'll go quietly into the night.”

No indeed. He would fight this latest attempt to usurp his position. He was a man who wore power like a comfortable old cloak. He'd not give it up easily.

“I'm always amazed by how eloquent Claybourne is,” Lady Chesney said.

Catherine felt her heart lurch. “You've spoken with him?”

Lady Chesney pressed her hand to her ample bosom, and judging by the shock on her face, Catherine might as well have asked if she'd lain in bed with him. “Of course not. Just the thought of conversing with the man sends my heart into palpitations. I daresay, if he ever addressed me, I would expire on the spot. No, no, no. I'm referring to the letters he's had published in the
Times
.”

Catherine's stomach dropped to her toes. “What letters?”

“He maintains that it's unfair for children older than seven to be judged according to the law of the land.”

“Well, of course, he'd think it unfair,” Lady Charlotte said. “After all, he spent time in prison—even before he murdered dear Mr. Langdon's father. Can you imagine growing into adulthood knowing that your father was murdered—and that your grandfather not only welcomed the murderer into his home, but treated him as a son? Or a grandson as it were. It's absolutely shameful. Can anyone blame Mr. Marcus Langdon for striving to acquire what he knows in his heart is his?”

“Of course no one can blame him,” Lady Chesney said. “I think it's frightfully disgraceful that among the aristocracy we have a lord who bears a prison brand upon his hand.”

“Have you seen it?” Lady Charlotte asked, clearly horrified by the thought.

“I should say not! My dear Chesney has seen it, though, at the club when Claybourne is not wearing gloves. It fairly turns his stomach, and my Chesney is not one whose stomach turns easily.”

“I think if I bore the mark of sin, I'd always hide it,” Lady Charlotte said.

Catherine thought of the scar she'd seen on Claybourne's hand the night she'd gone to visit him, the burn scar on Jack Dodger's thumb. Why did Claybourne's look so different, so awful? She couldn't imagine someone intentionally pressing hot iron against a child's small hand. “Do you know how old he was when he was in prison?”

“Not offhand, no. It was years ago, I believe, when he was a child. From what I understand, he was caught stealing.”

“He should have gone to prison for killing Mr. Langdon's father,” Lady Charlotte said, with righteous indignation.

“Dear girl, he should have been hanged,” Lady Chesney said, “but as he was never actually put on trial, he avoided both consequences. He was in a gaol for a bit, awaiting trial, but gaol hardly suffices as prison.”

“Should we be speaking of Claybourne?” Winnie asked, glancing around as though she expected him to jump out from behind the rosebushes. “If we're not careful he'll be making appearances at our affairs.”

“You're quite right, Duchess. He is a horrible man. I shall pray diligently day and night for the court and the Crown to bestow upon Mr. Marcus
Langdon what is rightfully his,” Lady Charlotte said.

Catherine had an unkind thought that Lady Charlotte was praying so hard because she wanted to be a countess. What a selfish use of prayer that was. Would it not be better to pray for the children?

For three nights now, in between teaching Frannie proper etiquette, Catherine heard about the children's home that Frannie was building on land that Claybourne had purchased for her. It was located just outside of London. She intended it to be a place where children could, in Frannie's words, be children.

Catherine had done good works. She donated clothing to the poor. She gave coins to begging children. But she didn't wrap her arms around them as she suspected Frannie did. And now to hear that even Claybourne was taking a public stand against what he considered an unfair practice…she felt quite humbled.

 

“I don't think he's as bad as all that,” Catherine muttered later as the open carriage rattled over the street, taking her and Winnie to Winnie's residence.

“Who?” Winnie asked.

“Claybourne.”

“Oh, please, I really don't want to speak of him. We should be discussing the ball we'll be hosting at the end of the month. That's a much more pleasant conversation. Have you managed to acquire an orchestra for us?”

Catherine smiled. “Yes, I have. And the invita
tions should be ready tomorrow. I'll pick them up at the stationers, and then we can spend a terribly exciting afternoon addressing them.”

Winnie laughed lightly. It always made Catherine feel better to hear her friend laugh. “You don't like addressing invitations,” Winnie said.

“No, I must confess that I don't. I enjoy arranging for a ball, but the tedious tasks bore me to no end.”

“I shall address them all. I don't mind. I rather like having a precise goal that can be easily met.”

“But it seems like such a small goal.”

Winnie stopped smiling.
Drat it!
Catherine had hurt her feelings. She was so easily hurt these days, and who could blame her? Her confidence was shattered. Reaching across, Catherine squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry, but I'm feeling a bit trite of late. Hearing that a man such as Claybourne, a known scoundrel, is taking time to speak out on behalf of children makes me feel as though I should be doing more.”

“You have your father to look after.”

“Yes, but he has nurses.”

“And you have the estates to oversee.”

“That is true, I suppose, although even then it's simply a matter of approving decisions that the estates' managers have already given considerable thought to.”

“When do you think your brother will return home?”

“I don't know.”

“When did you last hear from him?”

Catherine glanced about at the shops they passed. She'd been shopping too much of late, to
take her mind off the bargain she'd struck with Claybourne. It was almost as though she wanted to run from her decision, even though she truly believed it was the only way to save Winnie. Threatening Avendale would only anger him further, and he would take his fury out on her friend and possibly on Catherine as well. Yes, killing him was the only permanent answer that guaranteed no harm to Winnie.

“It's been nearly a year,” Catherine said quietly.

“You don't suppose something horrendous has happened to him.”

“No, he's never been one for writing. He's rather selfish in that regard. He cares only about his own pleasures.”

“That will all change when he returns home.”

“Perhaps.” She hoped so. Although she didn't think she was doing too terrible a job at managing things. She rather liked it actually.

“We really need to find you a husband,” Winnie said. “Isn't there anyone who's caught your fancy?”

Catherine thought of silver eyes, the way they warmed when Claybourne looked at Frannie, the way they'd heated when he'd kissed Catherine. He was so solicitous where Frannie was concerned. How could Frannie not want what Claybourne had to offer?

When he'd first told Catherine that he wanted to marry a woman who had misgivings about marrying him, she'd thought she'd understood the misgivings. But the more time she spent in Claybourne's company the more she discovered
a man of such depth that she thought a lifetime spent with him would not reveal all the layers. But what an intriguing lifetime it would be. But he was not for her, and well she knew it.

“Not really,” Catherine said.

“I can hardly believe that Lady Charlotte has taken a fancy to Mr. Marcus Langdon. He's nice enough, I suppose, but I think her interest may wane if his pursuit in reclaiming the title isn't successful.”

“I don't think Claybourne will give it up easily.” Quite honestly, she didn't think he'd give it up at all, and while a part of her recognized that he'd stolen it, she couldn't quite see him as anything other than a lord. There was simply something about the way he held himself that seemed to indicate he'd been born into the role.

“Sometimes, like the way you sounded today when you spoke his name, it's almost as though you
know
him.”

“He is so mysterious, Winnie. Maybe we should invite him to our ball.”

“I daresay his appearance would certainly make it the talk of London.”

Yes,
Catherine thought,
it would.

The carriage came to a halt outside Winnie's residence.

“Would you like to come in for a moment?” Winnie asked.

“Yes, I'd love to see Whit.”

“That, my dear friend, is the very reason you should marry. You so enjoy children.”

“I think it important to enjoy their father.”

Winnie blanched. Catherine reached out and
touched Winnie's arm. “I didn't mean anything by that, Winnie.”

“I know.”

“For myself, I just need there to be something special between me and the man I might marry.”

“I hope you find it.”

In Winnie's voice, Catherine heard the despair of a woman who had not found happiness.

The footman assisted them in leaving the carriage. They walked up the steps and entered the house.

“Where have you been?”

The voice was harsh, demanding. Winnie squeaked and jumped aside, knocking into Catherine, and they both did a strange little stepping dance to keep from losing their balance.

Avendale laughed in a mean sort of way. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Catherine didn't believe that. He moved from near the window where he'd obviously been watching them.

“Answer me, Duchess.”

So formal. Winnie was his wife for goodness' sakes. Catherine heard her swallow.

“We were spending the afternoon visiting with Lady Charlotte,” Winnie said.

“She's naught but a gossip. Why would you spend time with her?”

“We spend time calling on many of the ladies. It's what we do,” Winnie said.

He narrowed his dark eyes. His hair was almost black. Claybourne's was darker, and yet it didn't make him seem as sinister. Avendale wasn't nearly as tall as Claybourne but what he lacked in height,
he made up for in width. Still, Catherine thought Claybourne could take him easily enough.

Avendale shifted his attention to Catherine, and unlike Winnie, she didn't cower. “Shouldn't you be seeing after your father?”

She wanted to tell him it was none of his business. Instead she said, “He has nurses. It would weigh on him if I spent all of my time with him.”

“Where did you say you spent the afternoon?”

Why in the world did he sound so suspicious? “With Lady Charlotte.”

“Where?”

“In her garden.”

“For how long?”

“About twenty minutes or so.”

“And before that?”

Catherine looked at Winnie who was studying the tips of her shoes. Did she always go through this inquisition?

“We stopped by to visit with the Countess of Chesney. After our visit, she invited us to join her at Lady Charlotte's.”

“And before that?” he asked again.

“Would you like me to provide you with a written schedule?”

He grinned, more like one who was irritated than amused. “No need. You don't like being challenged, do you?”

“No, Your Grace, I do not, but then name me one person who does.”

“I'm afraid I can't.”

Winnie cleared her throat. “Did you have a need of me?”

He slid his gaze back to her and Catherine was aware of her shrinking.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. My boots were not polished to my satisfaction. I took a strap to the lad. I think he'll do a much better job in the morning, but will you please inspect them before I have need of them?”