Lord Romney's Exquisite Widow (14 page)

Catherine got up and hugged her sweet daughter-in-law. “You are a wonderful mother, and this new little one will soon see how fortunate they are to come to your home."

Sophia nodded toward Joshua and then said quite soberly, "You would make a superb mother as well."

Was that not her dearest wish? Catherine shook her head as her heart grew heavy. "Goodness, no. I cannot think of such things. I am not sure I was ever meant to be a mother. I will be pleased merely to love each of my grandchildren as they come along."

"Pshaw!" Sophia sat back in the chair. "I do not know if that particular bluff was supposed to convince me of the falsehoods you tell yourself, or if it was supposed to persuade you."

All at once, Catherine wished she were several hundred miles away in the country. Or in Bath, or anywhere to get away from these constraining feelings.

However, Sophia continued. "Are you and Lord Hamson not getting along? You certainly do a lot of activities together. Do I perchance see a bit of love blossoming in that direction?"

Catherine attempted to play coy, though every part of her felt as if were racing at the Downs. "I am sure it appears more than it essentially is."

"He certainly seems to be very attentive to you. Are you implying that you have not noticed how his affections have turned?"

"George Hamson is a kind gentleman who is merely attempting to help me enjoy myself whilst I am here in London."

"George now, is it?" Sophia grinned and sat down upon the floor with Joshua. That boy was still playing with Silver and giving them no heed at all.

Catherine explained, "I used to call him George before."

"I see." Sophia gave Catherine a look that implied her stepdaughter-in-law was bounding through a copious amount of assumptions.

"We are purely friends. Good friends." Catherine sighed. "I am not going to wed again. I have made that point extremely clear to George and anyone else who will listen. He knows where I stand, and that is that."

"I think he is persistent enough to tolerate anything at the moment, even your preposterous stances."

"Ha." Catherine's jaw dropped. She could not believe Sophia would have the gall to say such a thing.

"’Tis true." Sophia played with the hem of her dress for a moment before asking, "And what will you do in Bath when he has vanished?"

"Enjoy myself as usual. Go and see the many sights and . . ." Catherine's voice trailed off as for the first time, she grasped that she would be dreadfully alone in Bath. "And go to the pump room and have tea and . . ." Forever wander the halls of the beautiful city, never truly living in it, just there visiting as a foreigner. Suddenly, her limbs became numb and her heart plunged. For no reason at all, she felt like crying. "And then I will buy a home out in the country after that. I adore the country," she said, attempting to boost her spirits. "And it will be a lovely home with a flower garden and a large library and all the things needed for a quiet existence."

"And you will be contented there?"

No. Not one day. For it would remind her of how much she was missing him. Botheration! In just less than a month, the man had wormed his way into her heart so much that she could not imagine life alone now. Where would his teasing be? His cheerful laughter? His spontaneous dancing? His inane compliments and chatter and . . . Her hands began to tremble, and her breathing became quite erratic.

Sophia placed her hand on her arm. "Catherine, are you well?"

"What a pair we make!" She exclaimed through tears she was determined to hold back. "I was only asking the same of you a few minutes ago, was I not?"

"Yes, but . . . you are not well."

"I am perfectly fine," she lied, her shoulders all at once shaking too. And then she broke in front of her dear stepdaughter-in-law. Her lips began to tremble and her voice could not find its steady self. "I am not fine. I . . . I do not want to be alone, Sophia. I do not ever want to be alone again."

"Come here." The slightly older woman wrapped her arms around her stepmama and allowed Catherine to weep upon her shoulder. "You do not have to be by yourself, dearest. He loves you so very much. He will always love you. A man that consistent after all these years will never look elsewhere. You have captured him completely."

Catherine was attempting with every moment to gain control of herself again, yet she could not. Her exasperating tears would not leave her be.

"Shh ..." Sophia began to sway with her in her arms, like she would for Joshua, and it was oddly comforting. "You only need to see how much you are loved and to trust him, dearest. He will not be unkind to you. I promise, it will not be like the last. You will be loved your whole life by Lord Hamson. Indeed, he has held on this long."

Catherine shook her head, unwilling to believe. "But he does not know me. What—what if when we are finally wed, he despises me?"

Sophia hugged Catherine tighter. "What a foolish thing to say. Catherine, do you not know that Lord Romney never loved you? He did not. He was desolate and afraid of being by himself, so he married you and attempted to correct you into being someone you were not and never will be. My dear, you must listen. Lord Hamson loves you with every fiber of his being. He does not want to marry the old Lady Romney. Why, how could you imagine he would? No, my dear, he wishes for you, and only the wonderfully perfect you."

Catherine moved away and looked around fretfully. There was nothing more than she desired right then than to ponder Sophia's words in private. Her stepdaughter must have comprehended her quandary, for in the next instant, she was scooping up a protesting Joshua and carrying him from the room. Her last words were, "I state the truth. You recognize that I do," before the door shut soundlessly after her.

Gradually, Catherine walked to her bed and then curled up within it. For some minutes, she permitted the last four years to wash over her until she heard the faint mewing and scratching of the kitten pleading to be elevated up onto the bed. She reached over and picked him up, and then nestled him close as her world ever so deliberately shifted and a small sliver of hope began to prick at her heart.

Could she trust that she was worth loving? Could she trust that George would valiantly always see the good in her and overlook the bad? It was not until that very moment that she grasped just what a dolt she was. Of course he would overlook her faults—had she not easily excused him of his? Abruptly, she sat up in her bed. Was this the love George was speaking of? The ability to look past mistakes, to see the glorious creature underneath? This is where her first marriage failed. There was no forgiveness. There never would have been.

Sophia was most definitely correct. The old earl did not love her. He did never wish to do so, either. No, he wanted her to be less than his wife, so he only saw the parts of Catherine that were less than his dear countess. He would have never actually seen her for who she was. Not the way George did.

George did not give one fig how she sat and how she held her fork, or if she could name all the flowers or keep a fine house. He wanted her company because they had such a great comradery together. Because they cared about many of the same things and laughed at each other’s silly antics. The very things Lord Romney had tried to snuff out of her, George had been desperate to bring out again. If that did not prove the worth and love of the man, what would?

Her heart burst open, and for the first time in years, she began to feel truly alive. My word! What a glorious feeling it was to feel so warm, happy—nay, exuberant. She was in love, and there was nothing anyone could say that would alter that. George was correct—it was the most magnificent sensation in the world!

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

Catherine could not wait to go riding with George the next day and waited for him all afternoon. She had made up her mind that she would amaze him and answer yes the first moment his proposals appeared, for had they not done so every single day before? She bit her lip and twirled around in her room, allowing the pretty purple dress to swoosh this way and that as her naughty kitten attempted several times to catch her petticoat within his paws.

Her matching purple bonnet and kidskin gloves were waiting on the small table near her door, and her perfectly matching ribboned slippers were already upon her feet. That day was the most divine day that ever could be, for it was the day she would accept her most beloved’s offer of marriage. Goodness, what a ninny she had become, but surely she could not help the exhilaration bubbling inside, the gleeful anticipation.

And then he was there, finally.

She essentially flew down the stairs, the ribbons of her bonnet trailing behind her until the very most last two steps, where she abruptly halted and inhaled a deep breath. With as much ladylike dignity as she could obtain, she leisurely made her way to the floor and approached the drawing room, where Chaffney said he was waiting for her.

“Catherine, how fetching you look today,” George said as he bowed over her hand.

She smiled. “Why, thank you, George.”

He must have noticed the air practically sparkling around her because when his gaze caught hers, he paused. “You grow more beautiful every time I see you. Indeed, on occasion, you take my breath away.”

“I hope for not too long a stretch. I would hate to see you expire upon this carpet. I am sure I would feel exceedingly remorseful if you did.”

He laughed and held out his arm. “Are you ready for our outing, minx?”

“Indubitably.”

Catherine tied the ribbons of her bonnet and put on her gloves. It was time for London to see the change in her as well. She tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, and together, they made their way into his waiting curricle. Off they went, George smartly attending to the team.

For forty-five minutes, Catherine listened intently to his small talk. She laughed and bantered back and forth during the excursion. The whole of it was spent talking as they always did, yet not once did the subject of matrimony come up. Indeed, by the time George dropped her off, she was astonished they had not spoken of marriage at all.

The same thing happened once again at the musicale that evening, and the Thwittering’s ball the next evening. Even the trip to Vauxhall Gardens the following week did not produce one proposal from his lips. The frustrating buffoon spoke of everything else. She could not disparage his charming manners, his conversations, his knowledge—any of it. It was all meant to entertain, and it did—however, she was becoming rather anxious and wondering if perhaps he did not mean to offer his hand again after all.

It was a fortnight later, long after she decided to forgo her trip to Bath, and nearly six weeks since they first were reunited again, while they were once more reveling in their afternoon ride.  Just as George took the curricle around Hyde Park that Catherine determined she could not hold herself back anymore. If he no longer carried feelings for her, it was best to know these things now. Good heavens, the infernal man was out to abolish every ounce of sleep or peace she had known since her own feelings were realized.

With a deep breath and one hand clutching the railing of the curricle perhaps a little too tightly, Catherine collected every ounce of gumption she had and queried, “George, are you never going to mention marriage around me again?”

“What?” He looked stunned. “I beg your pardon? Did I hear you correctly? Did you ask if I was going to tease you about marriage?”

“Oh.” Her chest tightened significantly, and her breathing became a bit more pronounced. “I see. I did not realize that your proposals were merely in jest. Forgive me for bringing up the subject.” It felt as though her whole world had plunged to her feet, and nothing made sense anymore.

George swiftly pulled the carriage out of the lane and stopped it in front of a small walking path. “Catherine, what is this you are speaking of? And why the morose face, my dear? Do you not know how much I love you?”

“Do you?” This was decidedly much better than her first impressions of the conversation.

“Of course I do, sweetling. I would not be here else.”

“Then why do you not offer your hand in marriage anymore?”

“What?” He chuckled and clutched one of her hands to his chest. “Because I believed you wished me to stop doing so. In fact, I am fairly certain you told me to several times. Are you implying that you miss such antics from me, and wish me to do so again?”

She brought her worried gaze to his. “Only if you wish to. I would prefer earnestness than anything else right now.”

George’s jaw dropped, and his eyes grew wide before he hoarsely whispered, “My love, are you implying you truly wish me to renew my proposals? Have you perhaps had a change of heart?”

“Yes.”

Strong fingers came to brush against her cheek. “And how long have you waited for me to do so? How long have I been a fool and put you through such agonies?”

“Oh, way too long.”

“Forgive me. We men are a foolish lot indeed. None of us know the right thing to say when it is needed to be said most.”

“I understand, dear. Yet I would feel much more comfortable if you put my mind to rest and said the words I have been hoping to hear this last fortnight at least.”

George grinned, then began to chuckle and then out-and-out laughed. “I find you the most absolutely adorable creature in the whole world. I cannot imagine a day without you. And it is things like this that reiterate to me how absolutely delightful you are.”

“George?”

“Hush, dear. I am working up to it.” He leaned down and kissed her pout and then continued, “I have many other things I wish to say first, however, I fear you may change your mind, so we will wait until after the wedding to go over all my true feelings for you. For now, let it suffice enough to say, Catherine Poleton Romney, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

She let out a sigh of relief and then nodded, her mind whirling with all of the comebacks she wished to make, but the only one that mattered was, “Yes. Oh, yes.”